47 Days to Change (a translation)
by Snow-owl01
Summary: Harry Potter and Tom Riddle are nemesis, born adversaries, prophesied leaders of opposite fractions. 2001 to 1932, forty-seven days to change the fate of the Dark Lord. This is a 'Harry travels back in time to raise Tom' story. SLASH. TR/HP. Translation of a Chinese fanfic.
1. Chapter 1

**47 Days to Change (a translation)**

**Summary**:

Harry Potter and Tom Riddle are nemesis, born adversaries, prophesied leaders of opposite fractions.

2001 to 1932, forty-seven days to change the fate of the Dark Lord.

This is a 'Harry travels back in time to raise Tom' story. An unfortunate tale of one man's failed attempt to mould young Tom into a decent, law-biding citizen. Instead, as Fate will have it, young Tom grows up to become the same twisted psychopath, who is hell-bent on winning the love of his adopted father. Harry's consent be _damned_.

WARNING: Slash. LV/HP. TR/HP.

Dark!Voldemort. Light!Harry. No light bashing.

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**NOTE**: This is a translation of a Chinese HP Fanfiction by **Ink Emerald**/**墨玉绿**.

I really like her story. It's a time travel fic done right. Her characterizations are fairly on point. Harry is tortured but sweet and Tom is deliciously evil. MUAHAHAHAHA.

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Here's the link to the original story:

**Title**: **[HP]47****天改造**

**Author**:**墨玉绿**

**Link**: www( ) jjwxc () net/ onebook() php?novelid=1888544

_Replace () with . AND no space._

The author (**墨玉绿**) wants to put a disclaimer out - that her story is purely fictional, so please disregard all discrepancies from JKR's series and all historical inaccuracies. Due to her youthful inexperience... the views (regarding World War I/II, France, Britain and Germany) presented here may be highly inaccurate. She just wants to warn you in advance. So... no one go over to flame her, okay?

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BETA: **Paperthins**

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Book cover art by: the very talented **********Popuyund**

Check out her tumbler at nyakata166 () tumblr () com/ image / 85502086159

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**Chapter 1**

**December 31, 1926**

It was late December. Naturally, the streets of London were blanketed with snow. The city, still shadowed by the horrors of World War I, presented itself like a weak, old man desperately clinging onto the last visage of its former imperial glory. Its citizens hurried about, pulling their coats against the winds, unwilling to dwell in empty streets. Newspapers fluttered in the cold air; the date on them read December 31, 1926.

Today was the last day of the year 1926.

On a street corner, a thin dark-haired young man clutched a device around his neck, a pained expression on his dazed face. The delicately crafted trinket resembled a small hourglass, embedded with silver rings that were engraved with unreadable letters. If any wizard happened to pass-by at this exact moment, he was sure they would have recognized the object.

_A Time-Turner._

Although compare to the standard Ministry-issued Time-Turners, this particular device seemed much smaller, more intricate, and wrapped in a mysterious sort of silver glow.

The young man stood in silence, watching as litters tumbled through the streets, until it came to a stop at the foot of a corroded limestone statue of the Virgin Mary.

_This must be a mistake!_

Icy winds swept through the young man's messy black hair, and its curly strands stuck on his round glasses, obscuring his eyes. The young man tightened his fists as he stared at the empty, unfamiliar streets. He felt lost.

Who could he turn to... in this era that was not his own?

"Your mission is to find his weakness," Hermione's words ringed in his head.

The brilliant Muggle-born witch gazed at him, with the sort of reverence reserved for something precious. Something like their last hope, the last bit of light before complete darkness.

Soon after Dumbledore's death, the Order of Phoenix had fallen. In three short years, the Dark had come into power. Voldemort returned triumphantly. The Light had lost.

Every battle was a struggle of desperation. Their forces grew weaker by day; allies and friends disappeared one-by-one. Until one night, perhaps due to pity of the Heavens, Harry managed to read Voldemort's mind once in his sleep, and found a crack in the Dark Lord's memories– the man has a fatal weakness.

_"Find his weakness."_

That was Harry's mission. It seemed simple enough, but also impossible. Weakness? What weakness? Was it a person? A thing? A spell? _A weakness_ seemed too vague of a clue to go on.

After digging through every detail of Harry's vision, they finally found an entry point. 1946, Voldemort's twentieth birthday.

Thus was the plan. The Time-turner was supposed to take him back to 1946.

But... it made a mistake.

Harry Potter frowned, and carefully considered his circumstances.

Harry wasn't aware that from the moment he appeared in this deserted Muggle street, he had – inevitably, unintentionally – set off a chain of fated events. Fate had set rules. Things could change, but the end result would be no different. All Harry could do was to fight against its fateful currents, struggling in vain, hoping for a better outcome.

"Sir...sir," a weak voice called out.

Harry brushed his bangs from his glasses and looked to the source of the voice.

It came from a stumbling pregnant woman, her face as pale like the snow she had fallen into. She was weak, thin as a skeleton, with a fat tummy protruding from her bones. She could not support its weight as she fell over, clutching at a street lamp, begging for aid with despairing eyes.

"Madam!" Harry ran toward her. "What is the matter?"

Her situation looked bad. The snow beneath her feet became quickly coloured by blood, alarmingly dark amongst the white snow.

Harry stood by helplessly. He didn't dare to move her. He didn't know what to do.

"My child... my child," she whimpered. Her lips were dry and she could barely manage the strength to speak. "Take… Take me to an orphanage–"

"What?" Harry could barely hear what she was murmuring, but there was no time to think. He wrapped her in his cloak and carried her to a nearby inn.

The Innkeeper bristled upon seeing them, shocked by the amount of blood. Quickly, he summoned his wife. His wife instructed Harry to lay the woman down on the table, and hurried to prepare some bandages, scissors, and hot water.

"Stay awake. Think about the baby. You must stay awake for the baby," urged the Innkeeper's wife.

She continued to rub the woman's belly. Her pained cries grew quieter still, as if all her strength was needed just to stay alive. She trembled terribly.

After five long, agonizing hours, a baby's wail filled the room. Instantly, the cry seemed to have injected life back into the dim, damp room.

Harry smiled at the baby. He couldn't explain the joy he felt, for this child whom he did not know. Birth was such a remarkable thing! A cathartic thing to experience, especially for a man who had seen so many war and death. The baby cried softly, and in that moment, they all shared a mother's joy and love.

Harry had always liked children. They were such innocent and happy creatures, meant to be treasured and celebrated. Meant to be loved.

"My... child," whispered the woman. Tears trickled down her cheeks.

The Innkeeper's wife handed the small bundle to her. She looked at woman's pale face with worry.

The baby, like all babies, was a funny-looking little thing, thin and pink with wrinkled skin and covered in goo. But to his mother, he was the most beautiful thing in the world. She kissed his forehead with reverence.

"Sorry... That I cannot take care of you–" she touched her frost-bitten fingers to his closed eyelids.

That sentence seemed to take everything out of her. Her breathing became laboured, short. Death's bony fingers tightened its hold around her throat.

She gave him one last smile. Her dry lips bled with effort.

"You shall be called Tom Marvolo Riddle."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

NOTE: This is a translation of a Chinese HP Fanfiction by **Ink Emerald**

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Once he heard the whispered name, Harry's mind turned blank.

_What day is it?_ Harry's eyes searched madly through the room for anything with a date on it. Anything_._

December 31, 1926.

There it was— printed on the last page of a calendar on the wall. That cursed date.

Harry stared numbly at the baby in his arms, testing the familiar yet obscene name on his tongue.

_Tom Riddle... wasn't he suppose to be born in an orphanage?_

Harry felt like he was struck by lighting. The baby felt heavy in his arms.

_If it wasn't for his interference, Tom Riddle would have been born in an orphanage. _

Harry Potter liked children, all children, all except this one... This one, he thought, should have been a still-born. The future Dark Lord, who terrorized the Wizarding world for so long, was currently sleeping in his arms. Harry could snap his little neck so easily, with a twist of his hands. Or Harry could simply let go, let the baby's soft flesh hit the pavement, and then... perhaps... he'll find out if Voldemort's bones break just like everyone else's.

If he kills Voldemort now, everything will be fixed. Everyone will be safe. No more broken families, no more wailing mothers, no more orphans... No more needs to search for any weakness. If he simply let go... everything will end.

Tortured by all the dark thoughts in his head, Harry closed his eyes.

He let go.

So frail and weightless was a baby's body. Its softness was no match for the hard pavement... Harry was ready, prepared to accept the sin of murdering an innocent child, if it meant sparing the thousands of death that will follow.

"SIR! THE BABY—"

A pair of strong hands managed to snatch the bundle just as it slipped from Harry's hands.

It was the Innkeeper's wife. She grabbed the baby tightly, gazing tenderly with worry.

"Here, here. I've got you—" she cooed, holding the baby like it was the most precious thing in the world.

Numbly, Harry handed the bundle to her. He watched the small, pink creature in her arms. His mind torn apart by conflict.

Tom, as if instantly sensing the changing of hands, startled awoke and wiggled restlessly. Once Harry stepped away from them, the baby started to cry, loud wails that seemed uncontainable in such a small body.

"It's alright, honey pie. Don't cry—" The woman rocked the baby gently, humming lullabies in her sweet tone.

But little Tom was stubborn. He wailed louder. The Innkeeper's wife looked confused. She tried to rock him faster, but it didn't work. The little baby raised his chubby fists from the blanket, as if resisting her touch.

The baby wailed with all his might. His monkey-like little face turned purple with effort. He coughed; he chocked; he wailed some more. His pitiful little mouth flapped in vain, as if he was protesting something that none of them could understand.

Harry looked upon the baby's purple cheeks. He could not see Voldemort in him. This was but a child, new to the world, untainted by ambitions and greed, pure as a new-born fawn. This was but a child, who, like all children, deserves to be loved.

Years ago, when Harry was thrashing in pain on the floor of the Ministry of Magic, he remembered Voldemort's blood-red eyes. Harry remembered every word that he said to the monster.

"You'll never understand love, Tom Riddle. You'll never see friendship. For that I pity you."

Harry remembered something flashing across that pale, skeletal face, briefly, for just a second, before all emotions became consumed by the Dark Lord's wrath. Something like an old wound exposed to the world, a moment of weakness and wistfulness. There was something buried deep in that black, empty heart of his— after all.

_Would Tom Riddle have become Voldemort under different upbringing? _

In the end, he was just another discarded orphan.

Unwanted, like Harry was.

Harry felt a lump rising in his throat. He raised his arms toward the woman.

"Here. Let me hold him."

The woman regarded him with uncertainty. But she was at her wit's end against the wailing creature, so she gave him up.

Something about Harry must be comforting to the baby. Instantly, the crying stopped. Little Tom gabbed Harry's sleeves, yawned contently, then closed his eyes.

"Oh my! He... he stopped," the woman looked at them with amazement. "Poor thing... Barely a day old and already motherless—"

Harry looked at the little bundle in his arms. Pink skin and spongy fingers. Tiny fists grasped tightly onto his sleeves, like it was something precious, a security blanket that brought great comfort. Harry felt a warmness blooming in his heart.

How could he feel so much for such a tiny thing? How could he ever think about harming this precious boy? Once was a terrible mistake.

Never again.

If he could change Tom's birth place, then why couldn't he change _more_? If there was an alternative to murdering an innocent baby, however difficult the path, Harry was determined to follow it through.

Harry kissed the baby's cheek. The child's warm skin tickled against his lips, a tenderness that seared into his memory forever.

"Ma'am," Harry nodded to woman hovering about. He could tell she was quite taking with Tom. "Can... can you take him in?"

The innkeeper's wife froze, blinking nervously. "Me...me?"

"Can you?" Harry hugged the baby tighter, equally nervous.

"Our... our family is rather poor. We... we won't meet the standard for adaption," she murmured shyly. Her head hung low in shame.

"But are you _willing_?" Harry pressed.

"OF COURSE!" She squealed. Her brown eyes shone with absolute delight. Her face could barely contain her excitement.

_A child_! That was all she ever wanted! You see, she had trouble conceiving and her family was too poor to gain adaption approvals. Yet... she never gave up her dream of being a mother.

Of course, she was willing to take him in... Such a precious, little boy.

Her little boy.

Harry watched as tears of happiness poured down her face. He tightened his hold around Tom.

— _A woman like her will make a wonderful mother. She will take good care of you._

Harry handed Tom to the woman. Tom, the ever-so-clever little boy, seemed to sense his eminent departure and began screaming in protest.

Harry patted the baby's soft cheeks, then bowed toward mother and son.

"I must be on my way, ma'am."

Tom must have heard him. He screamed so loud that his voice cracked.

Harry fastened his cloak and disappeared into the streets. Snow blurred his shape, then he was gone.

The baby's pathetic wail seemed to follow his every step, dissipating into the empty, snow-covered street.

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Leave a review, please. Let me know what you think.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

NOTE: This is a translation of a Chinese HP Fanfiction by **Ink Emerald**

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**December 31, 2000**

Objects moved rapidly around him, twisting in their vagueness as bright lights sped by. Numerous faces passed through Harry's vision, too fast for him to recognize any of them. He heard a tick, then metals banging against each other. The ringing was so loud that he couldn't concentrate on anything.

Finally, it stopped. The silver Time-Turner ceased spinning on its axis. Well... _if_ you can call the device a "Time-Turner".

Harry stumbled. He steadied himself against the wall. His laboured breath pulled painfully at his chest.

He was _back_. He stood in an empty laboratory, bare white walls except for a workbench and some chairs. The starting point.

"Two minutes and forty-eight seconds, almost three," a stern female voice intoned.

A girl in white lab coat stood near-by. Her eyes fixed on a timer in her hand. Her quill moved furiously as her face turned grim.

"_Hermione_," Harry exhaled. He hated the way his voice shook weakly. "There was an error."

Hermione's lips trembled. The smart, young woman frowned at him. She set Harry down on the chair.

"What went wrong?"

"I ended up in _1926_."

"1926!" Hermione exclaimed. She leaped up and fussed over Harry, checking him for injuries with a careful tenacity that's usually reserved for her lab specimen. "You got caught in a time vortex! Are...are you alright?"

Her fussiness reminded Harry strongly of Mrs. Weasley. After she finally determined that he was (largely) unharmed, she pressed him back into the chair.

"I'm fine. It's just... I went to 1926. _December 31, 1926_." Harry sat up straight, stressing the date with great care.

Hermione frowned again. She did not notice the significance of the date. Instead, she focused on her own puzzles.

_How were they twenty years off target?_

Harry took a deep breath and tried again.

"Listen. I... I was there... at Voldemort's birth."

That got Hermione's attention. She gasped, staring at Harry blankly.

December 31, 1926... OH!... _December 31, 1926!_

Voldemort's birthday.

"You—" Hermione regarded Harry uncertainly, unsure of how to formulate her question.

"Yeah... And I wanted to kill him. There and then," Harry understood her implication at once. He nodded and then shook his head. "But— I — I couldn't."

Hermione looked down at her notebook, deep in thought. After a while, she seemed to have reached a conclusion. She nodded at him.

"And—" Harry hesitated, then licked his dry lips. "I changed his birthplace!"

Hermione looked upon Harry's excited green orbs. She raised an eyebrow. _She doesn't think this particular detail is worthy of much notice._

Harry took a deep breath.

"'Mione, if... if I can change Voldemort's birthplace, then... then maybe I can do more. Maybe I can change his childhood, and... maybe that will change his future. Maybe... maybe... now, seventy years later, the future _is_ changed. He is no longer Voldemort. Just Tom Riddle," Harry shouted excitedly.

His green eyes burned with a brilliant optimism that made him seem younger, like the bashful boy he should be at this age, not the hardened soldier he had become.

Hermione sighed. She sat down across from Harry.

"Harry. I understand your intentions... But, you can't—"

Harry wanted to argue, but Hermione stopped him.

"No one has EVER gone back seventy years! ... Time-Turners are only capable of turning back 24 hours— 24 hours AT THE MOST— and there are good reasons for that... Muggles have this interesting theory about time-travel. For example, what if someone went back to the past and murdered his grandfather, what would happen? _Paradox_. Harry. It'll create a time paradox."

"Harry... This is also what will happen if you are to go into the past and murder Voldemort. You'll create a_ paradox_. Anything that changes the past... will alter the future as well. The smallest change can lead to a chain of infinite events. Maybe if you killed Voldemort back then...then maybe your mother will marry Snape, instead of James, and you — Harry Potter — will never be born."

Harry opened his mouth, clearly unsatisfied with her explanation. Hermione saw that and continued as seriously as she can muster,

"Wizards and witches have their own theory as well—"

"_Fate_. They believe in fate. Fate, who governs time, who governs history. Fate and prophecies and predeterminism, whatever it is called. It stops meddlers from changing history. It prevents _paradox_, Harry. For example, when a time-traveler is about to kill his own grandfather, a rock will magically appear by his feet and trip him. You tried to kill Voldemort and you failed...because of _fate_. You can not change history... because fate has already set it in stones. It is fate's game, with its rules, and no mortals can— ever— exist outside of its rules."

"But... I changed Voldemort's birthplace!" Harry protested weakly.

"You were _only_ able to do so because fate considers it an inconsequential change —" Hermione disputed quickly. Upon seeing Harry's crestfallen face, Hermione's voice turned gentle. "Fate does not care about Voldemort's birthplace, just as it does not care whether you like to drink tea or coffee."

Harry kneaded his eye-brows. He stared blankly at the floor, his mind troubled.

Thus, according to Hermione, that little baby, who was just tagging on his sleeves, would still grow up to become Voldemort. That adorable child would still become the terror that slaughters so many good people.

Despair hit him like a brick wall.

A warm hand touched his shoulder. Its familiar presence was reassuring. He looked into his best friend's smiling face.

"Harry, while ,in theory, it is impossible to change history... but, in reality, no one has even tried to test such a theory. In the case of time-travel, there are too many unknowns and zero absolutes. I think ... I think you should just do whatever you feel is right. Even if it leads to some unforeseen consequences, in the end, fate will fix it all. Fate can restore history."

Hermione patted his shoulder in encouragement.

Harry pushed the round, antique glasses up his nose, and smiled back.

"Ok, Harry. One more thing—" Hermione went all serious again. "How long did you spend in the past?"

"About six hours."

"From my perspective, you and the Time-Skipper were gone for two minutes and forty-eight seconds," Hermione tabbed her chin thoughtfully.

Harry looked down at the device around his neck. _Oh...so this thing is called a Time-Skipper?_

"I'm not aware that time flows faster in the past," she scribbled something in her notebook, crossed out a couple of theories and scribbled some more.

Harry frowned, then remembered something. He asked, "Say... 'Mione, can I just skip to 1946 next time?"

"Sadly no," Hermione shook her head. "A Time-Skipper is set on only one time-line. Since this Time-Skipper has locked onto 1926, we'll have to go with its flow. We'll have to start in 1926 and wait it out, hour-by-hour, until the time-line syncs up to 1946. Luckily for us, time flow faster in the past."

Hermione laid down her quill. Her face grew solemn still.

"Harry, you got to do another time-jump tomorrow."

"Why?"

"I need information on the synchronicity of the two time-lines."

All these technicalities were giving Harry a headache. He was never as smart as Hermione when it comes to experiments and theories.

_He'll... just do what she says_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

NOTE: This is a translation of a Chinese HP Fanfiction by **Ink Emerald**

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**January 1, 2001**

"Are you ready?" Hermione stared at the timer in her hand, afraid that she's going to miss the moment if she blinks.

"THREE. TWO. ONE. JUMP!"

As Hermione gave her cue, Harry spun the Time-Skipper.

It was the same nauseating, gliding experience. The landscape twisted around him. The pangs of metallic ringing made Harry wish desperately for some ear-muffs.

Harry steadied himself against the ground. He squeezed his eyes shut as blind spots clouded his vision. He took a deep breath before surveying his surroundings.

He landed at the same Muggle street corner as last time. The rows of grey houses remained the same, although the dirty snow, that covered them, was long gone. In fact, the warm breeze made him sweat. Harry removed his black scarf and cloak at once.

In the empty street, winds were no long chilling— A bit damper than last time, maybe, comforting air currents that carried the scent of spring.

_Time do flow differently in the past._

Harry paused, then found his way to the fateful inn.

Harry tried to peek into its darkened, dirty windows. But he could not see a thing. After a bit, he gave up. Harry smoothed his hair nervously _(why is he nervous?)_ and stepped inside.

"Welcome, how can I help you?"

Surprisingly, the greeting came from the normally solemn Innkeeper, who was laughing jovially with someone. The man was positively beaming. This wasn't the same stressed, disheveled man, that Harry met last time.

"Er... I don't know if you remember me?... I was here a...a while ago?" Harry asked, "How is Tom?"

Harry lifted his head to smile at him. Through the open door, the sun kissed his pretty face, highlighting its delicate features.

Before the man had a chance to reply, a woman stepped forward. She, too, was positively radiate with happiness.

"Who is it? Eddie? —"

Harry recognized her voice. It was the Innkeeper's wife.

He rushed forward. "Ma'am, I am—"

Harry stopped in his track. He stared, stunned, at the slow-moving woman. She laid one hand on her belly. Its bloated form clearly announced to everyone that she is with child.

The world faded the moment he saw her. Blood drained from Harry's face. The cheerful greeting died in his throat.

She recognized him too, judging by the effort she spent avoiding his eyes. She shuffled to her husband's side.

The woman murmured, "I'm so sorry about Tom, sir. It's just... our finances... We can't afford to raise two children..."

She apologized profusely. With her husband's hands wrapped tightly around her, the woman only had eyes for the life that grew within her belly. She smiled apologetically; her cheeks flushed with blessing.

Harry didn't blame them. Tom was not their responsibility.

Harry's chest contracted. _It hurts._ It took him a while to realize that he was hurting for Tom.

Harry asked quietly, the words bitter in his mouth, "_So where is Tom?_ "

The woman's shoulder slumped.

"At...at the Orphanage."

Harry stood frozen by the door, her soft voice exploding in his mind.

_The Orphanage._

Somewhere in the back of his head, Harry knew that has to be her answer. But it still landed like a blow to his head.

_"You cannot change history. Because fate has already set it in stones."_

Hermione's words swarmed his mind, mocking him with its blunt truthfulness.

_It's Fate. Fate's games. Fate's rules._

And Harry was powerless to stop any of it.

_Fate. Bloody. Fate._

Harry bit his lip, so hard that it bled salty iron-taste into his mouth. Harry turned on his heels and ran out the door.

He charged toward the Orphanage.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

NOTE: This is a translation of a Chinese HP Fanfiction by **Ink Emerald**

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**May 31, 1927**

Harry didn't know how he made his way to the Orphanage.

The stern, grey building looked exactly like the one in the Pensieve.

He passed through a set of iron gates into a bare courtyard that fronted a rather grim, square building surrounded by high railings. Due to age and negligence, white paints were peeling from its walls, revealing the greying matter beneath, in uneven chunks all over, like cavities that sprung from within this dying place.

The gates were high and oppressive, like prison bars.

Harry stood by the door, a strong stench of detergent drifted toward him. Something turned in his stomach, he felt sick.

He remembered the Pensieve.

_Mrs. Cole, half a bottle of gin in hand, stared at Dumbledore with surprise. _

_"TOM?! All these years Tom's been with us, he never got no visitors__—__"_

Harry remembered Tom.

_The eleven-old, thin, pale boy, stubborn and proud, eyes dark with ambition far beyond his age. His childish voice ringing with anger._

_"'Professors?' Is that like 'doctor?__ —__ I'M NOT MAD!"_

_What kind of childhood did the Dark Lord lead?..._

Harry couldn't think right now, even the theory of it made his insides tie into knots. Harry knocked, his knuckles tight and pale.

"Are you... here to adopt someone?" Mr. Cole hiccupped loudly, swirling a glass of gin in her hand.

Harry frowned at her untidy manners. He stood by the door of her office and refused her offer for a drink.

"_No_. I'm just here to visit a boy. Tom. _Tom Riddle_."

Mrs. Cole leaned back on the chair. Her eyes slide out of focus. She poured herself another drink.

_"Tom Riddle_?... Who?"

"Tom is at the nur_—_" interrupted a scruffy, young girl who stood behind Mrs. Cole.

Mrs. Cole waved her hand at the girl impatiently, before turning her attention back to the gin. "Well, then, take him there."

"I'm sorry for the delay, sir," the girl wiped her hands on her apron, as they headed down a long corridor. "There are a lot of children with us... you understand... and Mrs. Cole_—_"

Then, she thought better of it and changed the subject.

"_—_Tom is a funny baby. He doesn't like people, ye' know. He cries when anyone tries to pick him up. Even when feeding, he likes to do it by himself. Holding the bottle in his arms_. A good little one._ He doesn't cry much either. Easy to take care of, really_—_"

"Is that so," Harry nodded politely. He knew that Tom's always guarded... the boy treasured his personal space. _And_ _Harry can sympathize with that._

As they walked, suddenly, the objective of Harry's original mission jumped into his head.

"Sorry_—_" Harry interrupted her excited babbles. "What's today's date?"

The girl gave him a strange look. "May 31."

"And... the year?" Harry asked, and smiled apologetically as the girl grew more wary.

"...1927," she answered, but carefully slowed her steps to put some distance between herself and the stranger-who-does-not-know-time.

Harry shrugged. May_ 31, 1927._ Five months had passed since he last been here. And in 2000, only a day had gone by.

_One day in the present. Five months in the past._

She brought him to a door with painted sunflowers.

"Here we are," announced the girl. "Tom's in the first bed to the right. I'll be next door. If you need anything, call me."

Harry nodded his thanks, and went inside.

The room was spacious, clean, with large windows that allowed plenty of sunshine. Some faded flowers were painted on the walls, lest to inject some life into this graying place. Six crumbling cribs lined the walls. They were barely standing, held up by broken plywood tied around their bottoms. The babies napped peacefully. They looked thin; the flush of pink (sign of health on normal babies) were missing from their cheeks.

Orphans were not attractive to funding, especially in post-war times when there are so many of them. The Orphanage couldn't afford proper baby formulas. Most times, the babies were given a mixture of rice porridge and mashed carrots.

Harry saw little Tom right away. He wasn't asleep.

Tom looked at the stranger curiously. He nipped his fist, slobbering all over the place. Tom had begun teething and he did not like it.

Five months were enough to alter a child's appearance drastically. Now the baby's skin smoothed out and soft, black hair framed his face, Tom was almost unrecognizable from the little monkey that clung to Harry so short while ago.

The boy's black, round eyes were clear and shiny, a pure sort of ebony like the night sky. No trace of the scarlet that had, yet, to taint them.

The baby stared into Harry's emerald eyes.

He remembered them.

Just as Harry remembered the strong, inky eyes of the pale boy in the Pensieve.

_The boy was handsome and rather thin for his age. His hair parted neatly and, dressed in grey slacks, he looked just like all the other boys at the Orphanage. He looked calm, but an insidious power boiled beneath the facade. Momentarily, his black, depthless eyes betrayed his power; anger ripped through him, torrent, like an unseen storm brewing in the dead of midnight. _

_"You are a doctor, aren't you? From the asylum—"_

_"No...I am a teacher. And I'm here to tell you about Hogwarts," replied Dumbledore. _

_He was eleven then. An age of playing, shouting, jumping, laughing; an age of wonder and adventure and belief in a bright future. _

_Instead, he was solemn, angry. He said, "I DON'T believe you."_

_Harry watched in silence. As the boy coldly refused the one thing in the world that will make him happy. He seemed to retreat into himself, prickly to the world, curling up like a hedgehog in self-preservation mood._

_"It's...it's magic? What I can do?"_

_"What is it that you can do?"_

_"All sorts... I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to."_

_A flush of _excitement _rose up into the boy's hollow cheeks. Harry watched, unsure what to make of the child._

_"You are a wizard, as am I," said Dumbledore. _

_"PROVE IT!" The boy demanded. _

_The shabby wardrobe burst into flames. The boy jumped to his feet, the orange fire reflected in his ebony eyes, giving them a curious glow. _

_Harry saw his face transfigured: there was a wild happiness upon it. The grin lit up his finely-carved features. At last, the boy found people who are just like him. _

_He has been alone... for a long time. _

_"Thieving is not tolerated at Hogwarts," Dumbledore said calmly, pointing at the objects scattered on Tom's bed. "At Hogwarts, we teach you not only to use magic, but to control it." _

_The boy stood still, looking up at Dumbledore, challenging, unabashedly refusing to apologize._

_Dumbledore stood up, grabbed his scarf. Then, the boy rushed out. _

_"I can speak to snakes too. I found out when we've been to the country on trips—they find me, they whisper to me. Is... is that normal for wizard?_"

_A flurry of uncertainty flushed across those dark eyes. His arrogance fell away and for a moment, he looked every bit the stubborn eleven-year-old that he was. He looked at Dumbledore expectantly._

_Hopeful... for what?_

_Tom Riddle was a prideful child. Prideful to a fault... and thus, he didn't care about what other people thought of him. But there was one question that bugged his childish mind. One question that shadowed his whole life. One question that his pride won't allow him to voice__—_

_"Am I normal?"_


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

NOTE: This is a translation of a Chinese HP Fanfiction by **Ink Emerald**

* * *

"Sir?... SIR?" the scruffy girl called out, snapping Harry from his memories. She carried a basket of bottles in her arms.

Tom was still staring at him with large, round eyes. He didn't seem to mind the presence of the stranger, who loomed over him. He saw the bottles and waves his chubby arms excitedly.

"Alright, alright. Lunch," she handed the baby a half-filled bottle.

Tom must've inherited Salazar Slytherin's overbearing and possessive tendencies. As soon as those small arms wrapped around the bottle, he refused to let go, guarding it with the zealousness of a jealous lover. Tom sucked on the teat, biting it with a tenacity that's very indicative of his combative nature.

It took the girl a while to wrestle the bottle away from Tom. Saliva covered the thing and the teat was chewed up beyond repair.

The baby babbled angrily. He screeched in rage when the girl refilled the bottle and replaced the teat, then handed it to another baby.

"Miss... Tom, he—"Harry asked with concern. The baby looked very distressed at the sight of sharing _his_ bottle.

She shrugged. "Nuthin' I can do. Tom is a jealous one. _Possessive_. But we are short on supply, so—"

Harry looked down at Tom as the boy nipped on his fist again. He rolled over in his crib, creamy skin and round body, very adorable indeed. Then he remembered the uncertainty flashed in those ebony eyes.

_The boy asked, "Am I normal?"_

Suddenly, Harry was overcome with a desire to hold him.

Tenderly, he picked up the baby, one hand supporting his soft head. His small body was supple, warm and doughy, and smelled like sweet cream.

"SIR! He doesn't like to be touched—" the girl yelped.

But, to her surprise, Tom did not cry. Instead he yapped, made some puppy-like noises.

The baby looked uncomfortable in Harry's arm, so Harry quickly set him down again. But as soon as he let go, Tom started to wail, with that impossibly loud cry which tags at the heart-string of everyone within earshot.

Harry panicked. _What does a baby want?_

"Hmm..." the girl regarded them curiously. "I think... you were holding him wrong. Try something else... Lay his head on your shoulder."

So Harry did as she instructed. And it worked.

Little Tom lay meekly in Harry's arms, small head lopped against the crook of his neck. The baby's skin was so smooth and warm... and frail. The crying dissipated. Tom buried his head in Harry's shirt, trying to get closer to the source of the familiar scent, a scent that had imprinted on his newly-formed mind.

Harry thought it was unlikely that Tom remembers him.

But there they were... Tom tagged playfully on Harry's hair and Harry held him like it was the most natural thing in the world. The baby made some content 'Goo Goo Gaa Gaa' noise and tickled Harry's nose.

In his arms, Tom's weight was feathery, light and unnoticeable. But it felt _real_. _Real, much more than a fragment of the past._

They stood there for a while. Harry treasured the warmth of Tom's skin, and rubbed the baby's back contently.

Yet it was time for him to go.

_Time waits for no one._

He patted Tom's chubby cheeks, like he did five month ago, and handed the baby to his care-taker.

"Okay, sweetie, say good-bye to Mr. Potter, now," the girl rocked the child carefully.

Tom's doe-like eyes followed Harry, desperately clung to the young man's every move. The smart little boy blinked, then anxiety filled his dark eyes and tears wetted his long eyelashes. He yapped and squirmed, trying to grab onto Harry's shirt.

"Miss, please... Please take care of him—" Harry whispered. Perhaps his words meant nothing, but _this_ was all he can do.

"Sir—" She tried hard to hold onto the squirming baby. "I think he really likes you. Have you considered adoption?"

Harry saw himself reflected in Tom's clear, ebony eyes.

"One day... One day I'll come back for him."

He was determined to keep his words. _Fate or not._

The wheel of fate will _not_ veer off course, thank you very much. Its complex system churns about, spinning out threads of time and narratives of life — time and life; past, present and future; and everything in between.

* * *

Since this chapter is short, I'll respond to some of the guest reviewers (since you don't have PM option).

First, thank you for reviewing.

**toolazytologin**. Haha, it's my fault that the chapters are so short. I split the original chapters in two... so short chapters... yeah. I can change it if enough people complain. I mean I'm open to suggestions. As for your theory, Voldemort do make appearances in the future and that should explain a lot about where the author intent to take her story.

**Avid**. Yes, I'll contact the author as soon as I can... The story is nearing its end(?), so I really hope she will return soon.

**allasvitkona**. Good question. The author has published 50ish chapters. I'm splitting each chapter in two. Translating as I go.

**Henry**. Guys read slash? Welcome...?


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

NOTE: This is a translation of a Chinese HP Fanfiction by **Ink Emerald**

* * *

**January 1, 2001**

As the Time-Skipper whirled, Harry's world tilted. He felt the same familiar flying sensation; metallic bangs thundered in his ears.

Finally, he landed in the empty laboratory.

Harry's whole body shook. His legs buckled; he leaned into a wall, grasping for breath. Every jump seemed to sap all energy out of him, but this time, the problem was especially severe.

"HARRY!" Hermione ran toward him. "Are you alright?"

She took his pulse and noticed its irregular, erratic beats.

"No more jumping for now," she looked at him with worry. "It's too taxing on your body."

Between short breaths, Harry managed to squeeze out, "I'm... I'm fine."

But then he wheezed and slid to the floor.

Hermione pursed her lips, but decided to drop the subject.

"So how did it go?" she asked.

Harry frowned, "It was...er... It was May 31, 1927."

_Five months._ Hermione wrote that down, then pulled out some charts. She drew some lines on them, murmured to herself, before addressing Harry.

"I got it!... We need to wait for 47 days, then do the jump and you'll end up in 1946."

Harry hesitated for a bit, then turned toward her; his emerald eyes grim and serious.

"I want to go back," he said simply.

Hermione looked at him with concern. "...why?"

Harry thought about the baby, short, warm arms wrapped around his neck.

"Because...because I want to change _him_, Hermione. Even...even just for a bit."

Hermione looked into her friend's green eyes, troubled by what she saw. She knew there is no stopping him. But she also knew she can't let him risk his health for a hopeless cause.

"Fate will _not_ allow you to change history, Harry. And your body _can't_ take so many time jumps. CAN'T. WON'T. SHOULDN'T—"

Harry grimaced as Hermione shouted in his ear.

"But Time-Turners—" he protested feebly.

"Time-Skippers are _not_ Time-Turners," Hermione interrupted him sternly. "Time-Turners have much less adverse side-effects, while Time-Skippers are dangerous."

She leaned forward and squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.

"Harry, I'm sorry. But you know I'm right. Tell me... Your attempt at changing fate— did it succeed?"

Harry looked down. Long, thick eyelashes casted shadows that blocked out Hermione's face. But he knew that she knew that he did not succeed.

_He couldn't kill Tom or give him a better childhood._

"Fate does _not_ lose. It plans everything. It accounts for everything. _The past is set in stones_," she explained, feeling guilty for crushing his hopes, but she won't let him injure himself so aimlessly.

"Then... Perhaps I'm un-plannable. Un-controllable," Harry snapped defiantly. "Even if I can't— didn't— stop _him_ from becoming Voldemort, my very presence in the past IS a change in itself."

Hermione stopped, shaking her head. Now, she was getting really worried.

"NO. You don't understand. It'll make no difference. Fate will— or did— erase your presence there. See!... Voldemort doesn't remember you. If he did, he wouldn't have murdered your parents. He wouldn't have been so keen on murdering _you_!"

Harry fell silent.

Hermione gasped. She grabbed Harry's hands and apologized.

"I'm sorry. I— I didn't mean to bring your parents into this."

Harry shrugged. That was the least of his concern.

"Harry... You are our last hope, so please take care of yourself. You reckless—" Then she looked down at his pale fingers and shouted, "—MERLIN! HARRY. YOU ARE FREEZING!"

She wrapped her cloak tightly around him, then scrutinized him again.

"Where are your clothes?"

Harry grinned sheepishly. _Right_... he had a matching black cloak and scarf. They were new, even, Christmas presents from the Lupins. Harry casted a heating charm on himself, and instantly felt the heat rising to his chest.

"I must've left them at the Orphanage."

Aww, man, they were new.

* * *

Ron got injured.

As soon as they stepped outside, Harry and Hermione were greeted by a panicking Ginny. She didn't look so good herself. There were tears in her robe and burns on her face. Her knees were still bleeding, dripping a trail of red behind her.

"The infirmary—" she nodded at Hermione, who turned pale upon hearing the news.

The mousy-haired girl turned and ran upstairs. She didn't even take off her lab coat.

Harry wanted to follow, but Ginny pulled him back.

The young, nineteen-years-old girl changed a lot during the war. She matured into a brave warrior, with fierce red hair and sharp blue eyes.

"We caught an interesting one this time," she grinned cheekily at him. The dried blood covering her face did not look disturbing; instead it acted as a badge of honour that accentuated her youthful vivacity.

Harry never noticed how pretty she is... He felt his cheeks burn.

She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the interrogation room.

"It's raining,

it's pouring,

the Ministry is falling.

I'm laughing,

I'm crying ,

the Phoenix is dying."

A high-pitched, crazy voice drifted toward them from within the interrogation room. Harry could also hear Percy's exasperated sigh as the man shouted things at the prisoner.

Ginny gave him an apologetic look.

"Sorry, but...he insists on only speaking to Harry Potter."

Harry smiled to let her know it was no trouble, and stepped inside.

The nature of interrogation required the room to be rather claustrophobic. Metallic desk and chairs in a dim-lit steel cage, it was designed to evoke fear in its visitors, which, in these days, are mostly Death Eaters.

"Harry, you don't look too good," Percy greeted.

"It's cold in here," Harry shrugged. His skin was icy cold. "Probably...I should've brought a cloak."

In the center of the room, a bloodied Death Eater was hand-cuffed to the metal desk. The Dark Mark showing through his tattered robe, it looked even more ghastly beneath the room's dim, green lights.

The man chuckled, a nasty, wheezing sound.

"HAHAHA. Our saviour needin' to take care of himself... After all, his pathetic life still belongs to _my_ Lord."

Percy rolled his eyes. He pulled up a chair for Harry.

The Death Eater glared at Percy, his eyes bulging from their sockets. He... looked deranged, in the worst ways.

"I SAID—I will ONLY speak to Mr. Potter. ALONE."

Percy frowned. He turned toward Harry, hesitant.

"It's alright. I got this," Harry pulled out his wand and sat down across from the prisoner.

The look on Percy's face displayed his disproval, but the red-haired man had no other options. He had tried everything.

"Listen, Harry. I'll be right outside this door. Shout if he tries _anything_ funny," Percy said, before slamming the metal door behind him.

Harry massaged his temple. He was rather exhausted from time travel, and this was _not_ what he wants to do right now.

"Alright," Harry grumbled. "What does Voldemort want?"

The Death Eater looked upon his Death Mark lovingly, a smirked twisted his thin lips.

"Do not speak his Lordship's name in vain, Light's Saviour... Enjoy your last moments, stupid boy, because his Lordship wants you to know that _he_ will make you pay for those memories...of the _horcrux_—"

Harry followed his reverent gaze to the Dark Mark. The tattooed snake seemed to be mocking him.

Harry thought about baby Tom..._tiny hands tagging at his sleeves, giggling._

_"Fate will— or did— erase your presence there. See!... Voldemort doesn't remember you."_

Hermione's words lingered in his ears.

Harry forced a cold smile onto his face, and pushed his insecurities aside.

"Oh?... And here I thought Voldemort didn't care for those memories, which are of his childhood, no?... He doesn't exactly strike me as the sentimental type. What exactly am I paying for here?"

"_His Lordship_," the Death Eater whispered. "His Lordship is getting stronger. His Lordship is getting rid of all of his _weaknesses_. "

Harry's heart sunk. _He knows_. Voldemort found out that Harry knew the Dark Lord has a weakness...

"HAHAHAHA, next time... when you meet my Lord, he'll be more powerful, more immortal, more..._perfect_," the Death Eaters laughed, crazy eyes transfixed on Harry's face.

The laugh mocked him. Harry's heart thumped in his chest, so rapidly that it might burst, right there and then.

He jumped up and ran to the door. For a moment, blackness clouded his vision, and Harry slumped against the door, huffing for air. When he finally calms down, he threw open the metal door and gulped in the cool, fresh air with relief.

"Are you okay?" Percy and Ginny rushed toward him.

Harry nodded, "Yeah. I'm fine."

"Your face's so pale," Ginny looked worried. "You'll need rest."

Harry nodded again. "Yes, of course. You too... Ginny, you need to get those wounds treated, right away."

Ginny smiled with understanding. She gave a little wave, then turned and left them.

As soon as Ginny was out of earshot, Percy asked quickly.

"So what did he say?"

Harry hesitated. He considered the Death Eater's revelation and his mission; then he looked to Percy with a grimace.

"You'll need to continue interrogation. He said something about Voldemort becoming perfect. Voldemort is planning something big... We need to find out what it is...and we need to warn Hermione."

"I see," Percy looked thoughtful. "Listen, go take a break. Ginny's right. Your face's white as snow."

Harry laughed dismissively. _It can't be that bad_.

* * *

"Fred, George_—_"

Harry ran to catch up with the Wealsey twins. Both had nasty cuts on their faces, which just served as a good excuse for them to make jokes about how each other's face is so ugly.

"Yo, Harry," they gave him a big hug, evidently high in spirit.

Harry grinned brightly.

"Listen. Can I trouble you for a favour?"

"Sure," said one of the twins, wrapping one arm around his brother. "Anything you want."

"As long as you foot the bill, of course," said the other, grinning.

Harry licked his cracked lips. He checked to make sure they were alone in the corridor, then hesitated.

"Oooh, so secretive," said Fred.

"We're law-bidding, good folks," said George. He winked at Harry. "No funny business, okay?"

Harry stared at them fondly. He spoke quickly.

"I need you to get me some fake identifications_—_Muggle _and_ wizarding_—_a birth certificate for 1906. And I need lots of British pounds, enough to buy a house."

_Now_ they looked interested.

Fred patted Harry's shoulder. "Does Hermione know about this?"

Harry shook his head honestly.

George stepped closer, he lowered his voice, "Does this have to do with your time jump mission?"

Again, Harry shook his head honestly.

Fred and George turned toward each other, identical, mischievous grin on their freckled faces.

They said in unison, "I like the way you think. Harry, we'll get it done for you."

Harry watched as the twins walked down the corridor, arm-in-arm, singing, laughing. He let out a breath of relief.

* * *

Okay, per request, no more splitting of chapters.

Also, for **lady00dark**, I would've linked to the original story. But that whole site (which hosted the original) is down right now and the link just leads to an empty webpage. I'll put up the link as soon as it comes back.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

NOTE: This is a translation of a Chinese HP Fanfiction by **Ink Emerald**

* * *

**January 2-6, 2001**

Harry hauled his exhausted body back to his room. The small, windowless, military-styled room always served as a reminder to Harry regarding his position in the world — he and his friends were now fugitives. Even their headquarters must be hidden away, tucked away in a building by the border between Wizarding and Muggle world. Ministry and Hogwarts had both fallen into the hands of the Dark Lord's forces. Mainstream power and public opinion tilted against them. Harry Potter, the saviour of the Wizarding world, the boy-who-lived, became no more than a criminal, who watched, hopelessly, as his friends died around him.

He dropped onto his bunker. The aftershock of the time jumper was torturous. He tried to dull the pain by keeping busy, but that didn't really work. He curled in the bunker, biting his lips to keep pained groans from escaping.

_He cannot allow Hermione to find out about his conditions. Or she might end the experiment._

_"__Next time... when you meet my Lord, he'll be more powerful, more immortal, more...perfect."_

The deranged Death Eater's _damned_ words followed him, mocking him during every waking moment.

Harry laid there, silently, in complete darkness, hard mattress pressed against his back. He couldn't fall asleep.

Two faces kept appearing in his head— one of blood-red eyes on a white skeletal face; one of radiant ebony eyes and chiselled features.

_He remembered everything._

His fourth year— the Triwizard cup, the sensation of being pulled through space, his face in mud of the cemetery, Cedric's dead eyes, Tom Riddle's tombstone, _Voldemort's return._

Voldemort surrounded by Death Eaters, pointing his wand in Harry's face. He laughed in his high-pitched drawl.

"_Look at me_," he said. "Let me see all hope extinguishing in your eyes. _Look at me_ as you die—"

Pure hatred on that pale face twisted into something else. Insane. Unrecognizable. _Inhumane_.

Harry was afraid.

Voldemort despised the light, because he had learnt to survive in darkness. He lived in the shadows; shadow of being the product of a loveless marriage, shadow of being abandoned at birth, shadow of being labelled a 'freak' throughout childhood. Even at Hogwarts, with his family, _the Slytherins_, he had to be careful; he had to hide away the 'orphan' and 'half-blood' aspects of himself.

Voldemort despised the light, because no rays of hope had ever blessed him. He despised justice too, because it does _not_ exist.

Harry was afraid, but he still wanted to try to change things.

But the more he thought about it, the more impossible his goals seemed. The snake-like face surfaced in his memories, sneering cruelly at him, hissing, "I'll be the one to kill you, _Harry Potter_."

_He_ was the same. _The Dark Lord._ Nothing will ever change.

Harry buried his head into the pillow, his chest throbbing with pain and disappointment...and despair.

Hermione was right— _Fate is unalterable_. Voldemort will _never_ be a good man.

Pain spread to the rest of his body, but Harry paid it no mind, because the dark, empty despair, which occupied his heart ever since his return from the past, was much worse.

_Will all his efforts be in vain?_

After the pain subsided, Harry decided to take a shower, then, mercifully, he managed to fall asleep.

When Harry awoke, he felt much better. The sun was blazing in the middle of the sky. Harry cleaned himself up a bit, and then wobbled downstairs.

"HARRY!" Ginny yelled, pointing to the laboratory. "Hermione wants to see you."

She had washed the blood off her face, leaving nothing but a thin, long scar that traced her jaw-line to her ear. She smiled brightly and waved at him, wearing her victory badge with pride.

Her eyes were warm and her smile infectious. Harry couldn't help but smile back at her.

"Listen. Harry. We are in trouble," Hermione said bluntly as he entered.

She was writing something furiously over her work-station. Her hair fuzzy and all over the place, indicating she didn't get a good night's sleep.

"What is it?" Harry approached her and nabbed a file from the desk — one of the many training assessment of Dumbledore's Army.

Hermione looked at him grimly.

"Percy spent all night interrogating the Death Eater. And, well, you know how good he's at _that_—"

She shrugged.

"What—" Harry edged on.

Hermione pursed her lips, a pained expression on her face.

"_Very bad news_. Not only did Voldemort find out that we know about _the_ weakness, he's also looking for it, seeking to destroy it before us. What's more— he's trying to reabsorb the horcruxes."

"Reabsorb...?" Harry didn't even know he can do that.

Hermione ticked in frustration.

"That Death Eater said... said that Voldemort has already gotten his nose back—" she glared at him. "— This is serious, Harry. Don't laugh."

Harry obeyed, of course. Then, suddenly, he realized the significance of her words.

"'Mione! Maybe he's looking to get back those specific memories. His memories of _1946_."

"Yes, yes. That's why I wanted to see you... According to my calculations, Voldemort's memories of his twentieth year — _which is 1946_— are stored in the Slytherin's Locket."

Harry's hand went straight to his inner-breast pocket. He lifted the golden locket by its chain and dropped it on Hermione's desk.

She inspected it carefully, and then said to Harry.

"With Gryffindor's sword still missing, and since we couldn't break into Hogwarts, we cannot destroy the horcrux. All we can do is keep it safe. We can't let Voldemort get his hands on it—"

"Of course," Harry nodded.

"And one more thing," Hermione laid down her pen. "Harry... You must be prepared. After he becomes whole, Voldemort might be more powerful and even sensible... and that means... our goals might—"

Harry held up a hand to stop her. He knew what she's going to say, and he can't let her voice doubts in her own plan.

He smiled reassuringly. Emerald eyes glimmered brilliantly beneath round glasses, brave and tough like the most precious gem stones.

"We don't have much a choice at this point. Don't worry too much, 'Mione. I have faith in the plan," he waved at her and turned to leave. "I'm going to see Ron."

* * *

The infirmary was large, but evidently not large enough, judging by the rows of beds crammed inside. The sick beds were crammed so close together that Harry could barely squeeze through. Some of the patients placed a wooden plank between two beds and created a make-shift table, which everyone was currently crowding around, playing poker with their bandaged arms or casted limbs.

They seemed lively, shouting at each other happily and passing Sickles under the table, careful not to be caught by the nurses.

Finally, Harry caught sight of a turf of red-hair.

"RON!"

"Hey, Harry," Ron's left arm was wrapped in a cast hanging from his neck, but that didn't deter him from waving at Harry enthusiastically. Harry rushed toward him, half-afraid Ron's movements were going to re-injury his arm.

"How are you?" Harry asked as he sat down on Ron's bed.

Ron nodded toward his bandaged arm, then toward his legs, which were immobilized in thick, white casts.

"Same old, same old." He laughed heartily.

_Same old Ron. _Harry smiled.

"So, I heard you went to visit a twenty-year-old Voldemort!" Ron asked enthusiastically. "Is it true?"

Harry's smile turned sour. "Not exactly... I did see a new-born Voldemort, though."

"HAHAHA... so you ended up at the inn, huh? Is it as scary as they say, the birth place of the devil—"

Harry raised an eye-brow... _What?_

"What inn?" He murmured.

"Huh? I thought you knew—" Ron gave him a puzzled look. "_The Inn_. You know, where Voldemort was born. _The_ _inn_ where the devil was born."

"_The_ _inn_," Harry repeated. Then, some fleeting hope ballooned in his chest. He grabbed Ron's arm excitedly, his knuckles white. "Wasn't Voldemort... born in an Orphanage?"

"OWW!" Ron yelped as Harry unintentionally squeezed his injured arm.

"Sorry," Harry quickly let go. He looked at Ron expectantly. "_Well_?"

"Well what?" Ron grumbled. He scratched his nose with his one good hand, and looked into Harry's hopeful eyes with confusion. "What Orphanage— you told me _yourself_ that he was born in an Inn. Dumbledore showed you—"

Harry was dumbfounded. Quickly, he turned to Ron's neighbour, "Ernie, where was Voldemort born?"

"You-know-who?" Ernie Macmillan asked, looking just as confused as Ron. "At an Inn in London, why?"

Harry leaped to his feet. Hope trickled down his spine like electricity, providing him with a newly renewed vigour.

"I need to go see Hermione!" Harry shouted excitedly and ran out the door.

Ernie stared after the boy-who-lived, mouth agape, then he turned to Ron, who simply shrugged.

* * *

Harry's heart filled with happiness. _Finally, some good news._

_Of course,_ the change in Voldemort's birth place led to a ripple effect. Everyone's knowledge of the event also changed.

Even though Hermione had explained that _fate_ only allows these changes to occur because _fate_ considers them to be insignificant... Unimportant in the grand scheme of things. _Even if that is true._ Seeing with his own eyes that his action did, in fact, make a difference, however small, it made Harry very happy. A spark filled his head with infinite possibilities.

Hope. Harry dared to hope again.

If fate didn't care about the details, then Harry could change them all. If he can alter the small things, then, hopefully, the ripple effects of the sum of his efforts will birth something new. A new destiny that none — not even fate — could foresee.

Harry couldn't wait to share his theory with Hermione. He needed to do the time jump again.

"HERMIONE," Harry burst into her office, huffing for breath. Excitedly, he dumped his new theory on her.

She frowned. She didn't seem to share Harry's enthusiasm.

"Oh? So Voldemort wasn't born in an inn?"

Harry's bright smile lit up his handsome face. He never felt better.

"_Yes _and_ no_... For our sake, he was born in an inn."

In one possible future, one of those answers is absurd. In another, the same answer is universally accepted. It all depended on Harry's choices in the past.

"Hermione, when are we doing the next jump?"

"46 days later—" She turned back to her documents, examining them with the uttermost care.

"No, I must go—"

"No," Hermione answered firmly. "Your physical came back...It's not good. You must rest for minimum of five days before the next jump... Or your body is going haywire... Like right now—" Her tone softened, sympathetic, "— you are hurting, aren't you, Harry?"

Harry forced a smile, "I gotten used to it."

His brunette friend sighed deeply. She was too smart to not see through his lies.

"Harry, I'm not trying to oppose your attempt at changing fate. However, my consent only extends to situations that are safe for you. And right now, time jumping is _not_ safe for you... Promise me you'll take care of yourself?"

She glared at him with unswerving brown eyes, ready to jump into lecturing mode if he dares to argue.

"I promise, 'Mione. " Harry smiled reassuringly.

* * *

Five days passed quickly, but Hermione didn't mention time jump again.

Five days in the present... that meant twenty-five months in the past. Harry did a quick count, Tom just turned three.

These were busy times. Everyone worked from dawn till dusk, scurrying around the headquarters like little ants. Harry split his time between the training area, where he taught new members of Dumbledore's Army, the war room, where he planned strategies with the founding members, and the library, where he drew up new wards to protect their home.

Only when he was lying in bed, alone in the darkness, too exhausted to fall asleep, did Harry thought about Tom. _What would a three-years-old Tom look like?_ _Would he be like Voldemort at all? Even at that age..._

Of course, he never had an answer.

On the sixth day, Ron turned up in the training area, high as a kite on pain-reducing potion, one leg still in its cast.

Harry handed him a large bundle of files, then sighed in relief.

"Merlin's wand!" Ron exclaimed. "How on earth did you manage to finish so much work?"

Ron tried to pat Harry's shoulder in compliment, but his movements were so awkward that he somehow managed to step on both of Harry's feet.

"Where's Hermione?" Harry grimaced.

He was so tired, but at least he had finished his assignments early, so now he's free to do what he wants.

Ron thought about it. "I think she's in the lab... having a meeting with Luna and Cho."

_Of course, where else?_

"Thanks," Harry waved goodbye to Ron and ran toward the laboratory.

* * *

"I want to — confiscate — Time-Skipper," fragments of Hermione's voice managed to slip out from behind close doors, although it was barely audible.

"But Harry's mission —" that was Cho.

Harry did not wait to find out what Luna thought about his mission. He lifted the Time-Skipper around his neck, gritted his teeth and spun it.

And once again, the world tilted around him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

NOTE: This is a translation of a Chinese HP Fanfiction by **墨玉绿**

* * *

**1932**

His name was Tom Riddle, the _orphan_ Tom Riddle.

_What is a four-years-old normalyl like?_ Should he be wrapped in mom and dad's arms, begging for a new toy? Or should he be running freely, laughing with his friends, pranking everyone in sight.

To Tom, being four was _difficult_. Ever since his young caretaker passed away, Tom found it was increasingly difficult to survive in the Orphanage.

You see, being four was like being stuck in the middle. Two and three-years-olds were fed regularly; seven and eight-years-olds were strong and tall enough to take what they want. And Tom, being four, made the perfect victim.

The fat maid came around with a basket of dried bread, one for each child. _One and absolutely no more._ With her beady eyes, she glared at them like hawks as the children reached into the basket to grab their dinner. If anyone tries to take more than one, she would beat him down with her fat fists and confiscates his only ration for the night. But, often, Tom was so hungry that he didn't care. He would try to sneak an extra piece when she wasn't looking. He was fast and nimble, but that didn't mean he never got caught...when he did, ten lashes on his back.

But it was worth it. The beating was preferable to being hungry all the time, to feel so unfulfilled, as pain gnawed and twisted his stomach, like a parasite killing him from inside. The beating was worth it for the few times that he managed to sneak pieces of bread to his room, where he hid under his bed, wolfing down every last crumb, almost choking on its dry, wooden texture.

He got real good at stealing... then they noticed him.

_They_ referred to a group of eight-years-old boys, gangly and weedy, with stupid faces that Tom didn't recognize. However, Tom did recognize they were a lot taller than him.

"Hand over what you stole! NOW! Or we are telling Mrs. Sophia—"

Mrs. Sophia was the fat maid's name.

"I ate it—" Tom replied stubbornly. His trembling hands betrayed his fear, but he stood his ground, hiding the two pieces of bread behind his back.

A boy, the one who was always holding a rabbit, pointed at Tom. "HE HAS IT! IN HIS HANDS!... I SEE 'EM! "

That was all it took. They swarmed him, hands pulling and punching, and pushing Tom to the ground.

_It hurts. It hurts so bad._

The harder they hit him, the tighter Tom clutched the pieces of bread in his hands. Even with their eight-years-old strength, none of them managed to pry anything away from Tom.

Maybe his natural-born viciousness graced Tom with some unlikely strength. Somehow he managed to break away from them. He ran; they were right behind him. As he ran, Tom tore the breads apart with his bare hands. He grinded them into little chunks, then threw them onto the ground. Tom stepped down hard on the precious food, as if trying to destroy something he hates with all his heart.

By the time those boys caught him, the breads were lost. They were inedible, mashed into the mud with Tom's footprint on top of brown, flattened form.

"HIT HIM!" Someone screamed.

Fists and boots landed furiously on his back. Tom knelt on the ground, arching his back, trying desperately to protect his stomach and internal organs from their blows. Bruises and cuts ran away his face and arms, in gruesome purple patches, but, through the pain, Tom was smiling.

_They are mine... And if I can't have them, no one can. _

He laughed silently. A strange, crooked, satisfied little smile twisted his handsome face.

* * *

Afterward, of course, they told on him and, as punishment, Tom was locked in the basement for three days.

Tom slumped against a cold, damp corner, rubbing his hands in an effort to stay warm.

"_Tom? Tom_? Are you in detention again?"

Tom ignored the woman, who peered at him from behind metal bars, as she rubbed her hands together nervously.

_What does she hope to gain from these visits?_

"Tom, I— I brought you some candies. I left them in your room... Er... Hope you like them."

_Candy?! ...What does a hungry orphan want with candy? Such a small and frivolous plaything—it will only bring trouble. It makes the other jealous; it makes him a target. Anyways, since she left it in his room unattended, he bet someone already took it._

_But she never really thinks, does she? Never notices anything important_.

_She just wants to appease him... but not for him, exactly. She just wants to appease her own guilty conscious._

Tom stared at her from behind cold, metal bars. The wavering candle-lights casted soft glow on his face, yet his eyes remained cold, steely.

She took a step back. For moment, his eyes morphed into the hungry eyes of wolves, appraising her weaknesses, readying to strike.

"I'll... I'll come back another time_—_"

Tom watched, emotionless, as she practically bolted out the room.

_He saw right through her._

She was afraid of him, afraid of his un-childlike eyes, afraid of his un-wavering expression. But she insisted on visiting him anyways, because she felt bad for what she had done.

And, really, what she had done wasn't so bad_._ All she did was abandoning him in the Orphanage, because something better came along; because "they couldn't afford to raise two babies, so sorry, sweetie".

She always babbled endlessly to him, and always about the mysterious Mr. Potter.

"He's a wonderful gentleman. And he really cares about you, Tom_—_"

Even his pervious caretaker, before her untimely death, liked to mention Mr. Potter.

"Mr. Potter said he will come back for you, Tom. I know it. He asked me to look after you."

Tom punched the wall in frustration.

_He hates this Mr. Potter. HATES HIM!_

If this man really wanted to adopt Tom, then where was he? If this man really cared about Tom, then where was he when Tom was beaten or starving or screaming against the unfairness of it all? _Humph, "he will come back for you"_... _What lies!_ Tom could certainly recognize a lie when he hears one.

His hatred bubbled to the surface, colouring his childish face. If anyone can see him right now, they would be astonished by such seething anger on a four-years-old's tender face, such a terrible evil it wrought.

* * *

The Orphanage did not require strict attendance. They were too short staffed to provide proper schooling. The children only had to attend English lessons twice a week (curtsy of the Church), then they were free to wonder about the streets of London aimlessly. Mrs. Cole cared little about what happens to them. If one orphan dies_—_ well _—_that was one less mouth to feed.

Tom usually stayed out until four in the afternoon. He didn't dare to stray too far.

Tom headed straight for his room.

The small bedroom was turned upside down. The mattress thrown to the floor; wardrobe tipped over; clothes scatted everywhere. Everyone at the orphanage were issued four standardized uniforms per year, _no replacements_, and Tom's clothes, right now, were cut into rags with muddy footprint stamped all over them.

Tom chuckled darkly. Calmly and methodically, he began plotting slow and painful deaths for all the boys who had done this to him.

However, as soon as he laid eyes on a scrunched-up, black cloak, tossed carelessly into a corner, Tom's rage exploded.

He roared and swore bloody vengeance upon his enemies. _No matter who they are_, _he will find them_. His ebony eyes filled with pure rage, burning dark and depthless like the abyss of hell, which swallowed, whole, the bones of all his challengers.

Tom picked up the black cloak gently. It was old, but in good conditions because he always took care of it. It must been expensive once; thick, flowing fabric which extended pass Tom's feet, with a traditional yet stylish cut that tightened around the waist. Tom thought it must have looked really handsome on its original owner.

Whenever he felt sad, Tom would wrap himself, tightly, in the cloak, breathing its scent and treasuring its warmth.

_Maybe... Someone really did care for him?... Even for a short while... Someone like Mr. Potter._

Tom put the black cloak around his shoulder, and stroked the expensive fabric lovingly. Its soft warmth was almost enough to calm him down.

"TOM! Check out my new scarf," a boy said, as he entered unannounced,

Tom leaped off his bed, staring at the intruder with alert eyes of a territorial beast.

It was the boy who always carried a pet bunny around. The boy stroked the bunny's fur triumphantly, sticking his neck out.

Tom's pupils contracted. His fists tightened. His eyes zoomed in on the scarf around the boy's neck—

It was _Tom's_. That blackish grey scarf, also faded with age and matched, exactly, to the cloak left behind by Mr. Potter.

Tom's eyes turned vicious at once. He pounced forward like a powerful cheetah, snaring his teeth at the boy, murder plain on his face. The boy jumped back in fright, surprised by the sudden change in the four-years-old, who was, after all, much smaller than himself.

"_GIVE. IT. BACK_," Tom menaced slowly. His eyes hooded in an eerie shadow.

The boy tried to stay composed. He told himself that no four-years-old can harm him, but, looking into Tom's savage eyes, suddenly he didn't feel so secure.

Tom glared at the boy and his disgusting rabbit; it was rubbing fur on _his_ scarf. _Unforgivable_, he thought darkly.

"I... found it. So it's mine," the boy stuttered, trying to look brave.

Before he had a chance to finish, a small body knocked him to the ground. The frightened rabbit leaped away. Before he could react, or even let out a frightened yell, small hands wrapped around his windpipe, crushing him with impossible strength.

The boy gagged. He couldn't breath.

Tom's childish face hovered above him, eyes dark and deadly like vultures. Tom's tender features twisted with glee, transforming him from a four-years-old into something terrifying. At the moment, he was no longer Tom Riddle the orphan, but a magnificent angel of Death. His hands squeezed harder.

Tom discovered, right there and then, that he was capable of murder.

"OH MY GOD! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

Someone pulled Tom off the boy. Tom rubbed his numb fingers, and gave a cold look to the old nurse who so rudely interrupted him. He said nothing to her.

Wheezing, the boy crawled away from Tom and found his pet rabbit. He was shaking uncontrollably. He looked at Tom, then at the rabbit in his arms.

"It's... it's my fault... I stole Tom's scarf."

The old nurse looked at them with confusion. She looked at Tom, then at the trembling boy.

"If you say so, Billy... Tom, three days of solitary confinement for you."

Without protest, Billy gave up the scarf. As they got up to leave, Tom flashed a toothy grin at Billy, which contained a message that only _they_ understood. In a gruesome way, they shared in something unique tonight, but only Tom could see all the change that it will bring.

After that night, everyone at the Orphanage knew to stay away from Tom Riddle's bedroom, especially from the cloak and the scarf.

* * *

In many ways, nothing changed.

They still don't have enough to eat. The children still fight each other for food.

The first time Tom beat up someone for their food, he got nothing special, a piece of stale bread and a thumb-sized cheese. Yet, as he clutched his hard-earned victory in his hands, despite the throbbing pain of his ribcage, Tom Riddle felt happy.

He felt powerful.

_There is no good and evil. There is only power, and those too weak to seek it._

Tom Riddle wanted power_. _And he wanted lots of it.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

NOTE: This is a translation of a Chinese HP Fanfiction by **墨玉绿**

**_parseltongue_**

* * *

**November 19, 1932.**

Once again, winter had descended upon London. Homeless men shuddered in dread, cursing the heavens; while stray cats and dogs hid away safely in some abandoned buildings, waiting patiently for snow to stop falling.

Snow covered all the roads with a silvery flurry. Winter came early this year, the temperature dropping like a rock. All vegetables doubled in price, even brussel sprouts.

Things took a turn for the worse at Wool's Orphanage. They even lost their weekly 'meat dish' privileges. If possible, their daily breads smelled even worse, wrinkled and mouldy, but the children didn't protest—

Anything tasted better than _starving_.

Behind the Orphanage's high-rise gates, fights and unfairness were occurring daily. The children formed little gangs, semi-organized and territorial, they behaved as cruel as adults — beatings, blackmail, burglary— nothing was beneath them. The matrons at the Orphanage had long since given up maintaining order. As long as they took the fights outside, no one cared.

In the snow covered courtyard, a bag of candies was enough to ignite a new conflict.

"_You there_. That woman brought you candy again, didn't she?"

A sturdily-built boy stood in Tom's way, looming over him while cutting off his path. He snickered cruelly, then signalled to a group of waiting boys and girls. They moved forward, giggling in their high-pitched childish voices, as they surrounded Tom.

"_Oh, Tom,_ "A boy said in a fake, squeaky voice, trying to imitate Tom's visitor. _"Are you in detention again?"_

Tom stood still. Cold eyes, black and silent as midnight, stared pass their faces, as if they were no more than clowns in a bad show.

The boy with the rabbit popped up next to the bulky one. No way was he going to pass up a chance to humiliate Tom. He stroked the balding rabbit in his arms, then, in his annoyingly high-pitch voice, he mocked.

"_Tom, so sorry, sweetie. But we are too poor to take care of you._"

They sniggered loudly, as if that was the funniest thing in the world.

_So what?! What if he was the only one to get candy... In the end, he was still abandoned at the Orphanage, no better than any of them._

"HAND OVER THE CANDIES! THEN MAYBE WE'LL LET YOU THROUGH."

They stood in front of him, chins high, eyes mocking, proud like prickly peacocks. No trace of childhood innocence remained on their faces. Society and its cold, harsh reality twisted their sense of morality into a mockery that had long since vanished into winds. All that remained was a savage need for survival, a cold and terrifying practicality that told them— one ought to care only about himself.

Tom sneered.

He never touched the bag of candy... _and he never will_. Yes, that woman always brought candies for him, regardless of his distain for their sickly, sticky sweetness. The candies, cheap and of every colour imaginable, filled a whole plastic bag, which Tom tossed in a corner of his room, where they remained to this day.

Ever since he almost murdered Billy — _that moron_— and his disgusting rabbit for trespassing, no one dared to step into Tom's room.

Tom didn't care for candies; however, that didn't mean he was willing to share. They were given to him, and thus, they belonged to him.

_What is his...remains his forever_. He would like to see them try to take anything from him.

"HAND 'EM OVER— OR YOU WILL GET A TASTE OF OUR FISTS."

As the children waited, suddenly, a smirk bloomed on the four-year-old's thin, pale face. Eyes as black as a raven's wings, hair tainted by dead nights, at this moment, the boy, who standing-up could barely reach the tabletop, became something more than human. He became something more mystical, unimaginable, _potent_ like the ruler of Hell.

"AHHHHH!" Someone screamed in pain.

Everyone turned and stared in horror as one of them, a red-haired boy, keeled over in pain, clutching at his face. Blood poured from a terrible gash on his forehead. Endless crimson liquid pooled by his feet, colouring the snow pink. A blood-stained brick laid close-by.

_Who could've done this?_

They stared at each other in confusion. The brick seemed to have appeared out of thin air.

They were still children, unprepared to deal with unforeseen events, and instantly, the sight of blood panicked the crowd.

"WHO HAS DONE THIS?... SHOW YOURSELVES!" They screamed, eyes wide with fear.

Billy, who was so enthused a moment ago, cowered behind his friends, clutching the rabbit close. _Too frightened now his victims dared to fight back._ Cranking their necks, the children searched the empty yard, screaming for the culprit to show.

In the excitement, they seemed to forget all about Tom, who remained in the middle of the crowd, watching them scream with mild interest.

Tom watched as the bleeding boy grew faint. He looked down as blood dripped onto the snow, then he smiled, a most sweet, innocent, boyish smile. Tom was the only one unaffected by all the commotion. He stood in leisure, as if he expected all this to happen, a most peculiar smile etched across his face.

"HE DID IT!" The bulky boy screamed suddenly, pointing at Tom. "HE DID IT! I KNOW THAT HE DID IT!"

Tom's smile only grew.

"But... but—" a girl trembled. "We were all watching him. He... he didn't even move."

_That's right._ Tom didn't even move. He couldn't have thrown anything, because they were all watching him.

"FREAK!" Billy yelled, watching Tom's face in terror. He backed away slowly, then turned and ran. With tension already high, that was the last straw. All the boys and girls ran away —screaming — from the four-year-old. Something in his small, delicate body frightened them— something mysterious, primal and _powerful_.

"GET AWAY FROM ME! FREAK!"

Suddenly, Tom was the only one left in the empty courtyard, left behind with nothing but a swarm of muddy, messy footprints surrounding him.

_Freak?_

_So what_? Call him a freak if you must, for as long as his name strikes fear into your heart, for as long as he has enough power to take what he wants. Freak, or monster, or whatever... was a name that came with certain distinctions, which carried a power that they could only dream of.

Tom smiled. He inspected his bony fingers, so small and frail, yet... _so powerful._

He waved his hand. The blood-stained brick levitated and floated toward him. Tom wiped the crimson stain with his fingers tips, then held his hand to the light. The dark scarlet coated his pale skin beautifully.

**_"Sssss... Tom, I thought you hate that bunny boy, why didn't you hit him?"_** A soft, reptilian hiss drifted to his ears, unintelligible to human-ears but perfectly clear to Tom.

**_"Ah, that one deserves much more than... a rock to the head."_**

The young child giggled at his own joke. Darkness clouded his eyes. His soft hissing, as soft as lullabies, caressed the ears of the viper wrapped around his ankle. The creature shuddered, whether due to the cold or her young master's sinister cheeriness... well, no one knows.

_Human hatchlings are scary,_ the viper thought as it flicked its tail.

Fate looked down on them, satisfied with the progress. From the beginning of time to the end of the universe, it has always pushed history along a predetermined track — the boy's magic had awoken, his mind had opened and his destiny had begun.

No matter how hard you try to change it— _no matter how many times you turn back_ _the clock_— all your efforts will only end in futility.

* * *

When Tom returned to his room, he received notice to get dressed — right away— then to head down to the lobby. _A guest was coming_.

At the orphanage, this could only mean one thing— a potential adoptive family was coming. _Better clean up nice and look cute._

For such special occasions, the orphanage provided them with one set of nice clothes, a fine suit with paper-thin fabrics. Of course, it was designed for appearances sake, with no practical function in mind and too thin for winter. Tom wrapped the aged, black scarf around his neck, three-turns to make sure it was secure.

"I _heard_ he is young!"

The children, all dressed in identical uniforms, gossiped excitedly amongst themselves as they headed to the lobby. Tom followed, their faces blurring together, none important enough for him to notice.

Three girls walked in front of him, chirpy and giggling, hopeful with the dreams of a better life.

"Well, I _heard_ he's got a big house. _And unmarried_ _too_—"

_Unmarried_. _That's big! _That meant no competition from birth children or hard-to-please mistress, which lowered the likelihood of being sent back to the orphanage.

Tom stayed quiet. He blended into the crowd and entered the lobby with them.

Tom lowered his head, bored out of his mind. He had no interest in being adopted. Now he had figured out how to gain power over the children, he was fine with sticking around this shithole — at least, _here_, there were little adult supervision and no familial responsibilities. At least, here, he was allowed to roam freely, taking what he wants by force.

Tom's eyes flickered. He pulled up the scarf to cover his face.

**_"Tom,"_** the rope-sized viper slithered in his pocket. **_"They'll be a fool to not choossssse you... If you just smile a little, they'll see you're the prettiest little one here—"_**

**_"Don't be ssssssilly. I don't want to get adopted."_**

The little snake hissed in confusion. Her un-evolved brain couldn't comprehend why Tom is acting so stubborn. _Why must the boy wear such a gloomy expression on his pretty face? And why must he insist on not caring, when, in fact, she knows he is yearning for a family?_

After five minutes, when they were all seated, Mrs. Cole, very drunk judging by the state of her walk, brought in their guest.

"Ma'am. I'm only look for**_—_**"

_"_Yey, yey," Mrs. Cole interrupted the young man rudely, eyelids half-open. She slurred. "Good kids... the lot of 'em... Good kittens... They... they...waitin' for you."

The doors threw open. Mrs. Cole waddled in shakily, looking rather like a giant walrus with a bottle of gin.

A frowning young man followed closely behind.

Tom, who hid behind other taller children, gave a dismissive glance toward their guest.

The young man was very slender, with porcelain skin as pale as moonlight, as if he was recovering from some terrible illness. He appeared fragile, even more so than the thin kids who stood before him, yet his disposition was strong and alert. The most amazing things were _his eyes_— bright green— so bright that Tom couldn't find the right words to describe them. Tom thought that they looked even prettier than his favourite glass marbles, jade-green when glimmering in the sunlight.

His black hair was a bit long and messy, curling at the tip, which hid his forehead. Tom thought he saw a peculiar shaped scar beneath the bangs, but he was too far away to be certain.

From the moment the stranger stepped into the lobby, Tom felt something stirring inside him. His own soul resonated, burning like never before, drawn —inexorably —toward the stranger from deep within his very _being_.

**_"What's wrong, Tom?"_** The little snake slithered up his sleeves, after noticing her young master's distress. His heart beat so fast —too fast — he must calm down before he gets a heart-attack. She bit his wrist. The pain was enough to snap Tom out of his trance.

**_"I'm fine,"_** Tom exhaled slowly.

A dull pain expanded in his chest as his heartbeat slowed to normal. For a moment, the pain made Tom think he was suffocating. But the moment passed as quickly as it begun. His heart returned to pumping blood, dutifully, through his veins, as if it had never tightened at the sight of that mysterious young man.

Before Tom has a moment to gather his thoughts, Mrs. Cole spoke again, "Everyone, this is Mr. Potter."

_Mr. Potter._

That familiar name caused Tom's heart to skip another beat. The normally stoic boy startled up; his ebony eyes fixed on Mr. Potter's face, whose likeness, now, was burned onto his retina forever.

* * *

Two things:

1) I'm looking for a BETA. Please PM me if you are interested.

2) I'm going back to work next week. So a change in updating schedule - 2/3 chapters per a week.

Cheers. Meanwhile, keep calm and leave a review. XP


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

NOTE: This is a translation of a Chinese HP Fanfiction by **墨玉绿**

* * *

**November 19, 1932**

As Harry entered the Orphanage's lobby, a sudden case of lightheadedness overcame him, almost knocking him off his feet. He stumbled forward; his legs felt like wet noodles. Harry grimaced as sharp pain and dizziness attacked his brain; even his version blurred, blotchy with black spots flashing in front of his eyeballs. It took all his strength to not fall over in front of the children.

_Guess Hermione is right, his condition is worse than he thought._ Harry forced a smile onto his face.

If it wasn't for his body's _condition_, Harry should've been here two-years ago. _That_ one time —when he attempted to time-jump prematurely— caused him to pass out in front of the laboratory. _That_ unfortunate incident delayed him for three whole days, then... afterwards Hermione's wrath delayed him for two more. But, eventually, Harry made his way back to Tom.

Overall, he spent eleven days in 2000, which, according to Harry's calculations, meant Tom is about to turn five.

After a while, the terrible feeling had passed. Harry shuddered. The episode was the worst he ever felt; it almost felt like his soul is being ripped from his body. Suddenly, he became aware that the Slytherin's locket —which Harry always kept close by his side — was burning in his pocket. Without planning to, he pulled it out and it sprung open.

_NO! Not in front of the Muggles!_

Harry's pupils contracted in shock. The locket opened, yet... nothing was happening. No Tom Riddle's whispering temptations, no alluring mind-controlling charms, even... no trance of any magic left in the thing. The jewellery was _normal _again, save for the bit of angry heat that still clung to its golden surfaces.

And that meant — the Horcrux was destroyed!

_But how? How could it be _destroyed_ when nothing has damaged it? How could it be gone when it never left Harry's side?_

"Everyone, this is Mr. Potter."

Mrs. Cole's words pulled him back to reality. Harry stuffed the locket back into his inner-breast pocket. _He'll have to save the investigations for later._

Harry lifted his head to smile at the children lining up in front of him. He didn't mean to make a fuss. He was just there for Tom, and, before he could get a word in, Mrs. Cole enthusiastically summoned all the children. They stood stiffly in front of him, in a neat line, sorted by age, as if Harry was a visiting general inspecting his troops.

"Ma'am, I'm just here for—" Harry raised his voice to protest, but Mrs. Cole wasn't listening.

"I know... I know. Hard to choose... They're all good kids. Goodies—" The drunken Head-Matron slurred, waving her hands and spilling some gin on the floor. "Say 'hello' to Mr. Potter, everyone."

"HELLO! MR. POTTER!" The children shouted, their unified voice clear and booming inside the large lobby.

Harry scanned their faces.

The oldests were but ten and the youngests were no more than babies. Dressed in identical silk suits, they stared at him with frightened eyes of newborn fawns. Their faces were pale and thin, hollow cheeks clearly demonstrated malnutrition, but most of them smiled shyly at him, large eyes shiny with tears and wistfulness.

Harry's heart melted at the sight of them. He had a difficult childhood once, living under the mercy of unkind caregivers. He was one of them once, and so, their helpless, silent pleads resonated with him deeply.

Of course, what Harry didn't know was that these kids were acting. They had been through this process before, many times over, and they were used to be picked like cattle. Therefore, they learned how to fake presentation— how to look sad and helpless; how to cry at the appropriate moments to gain sympathy. Innocence was a privilege of childhood, but it was a privilege for the rich kids, the ones with parents, and not for them, who must survive on their own.

But Harry didn't know that. The world was always simpler in the minds of golden Gryffindors, they — foolishly — liked to assume the best of people.

The thought of disappointing most of these kids troubled Harry greatly. He looked away.

"I just want to adopt—" Harry's words choked in his throat.

"DADDY! DADDY! PLEASE DON'T GO!"

Suddenly, in the front row, a boy started to cry. He wailed on top of his lungs, a heartbreaking thrill voice that echoed in the lobby.

The boy trembled uncontrollably, as if it took all his strength to remain standing. "I WANNA GO HOME! PLEASE, I'LL BE GOOD. DADDY. I WON'T ASK FOR A RABBIT NO MORE—"

"BILLY! BE QUIET!" Mrs. Cole snapped at the boy angrily. His piercing wail was giving her a migraine.

The boy looked frightened. He hid his face in his sleeves, but couldn't quite stop himself from sobbing. His muffed cries sounded even more depressing as Mrs. Cole glared at him.

"Mrs. Cole... Is he alright?" Harry asked.

The drunken woman waved her arm dismissively.

"Yeah, yeah... the boy misses his daddy. Happens now and then... Maybe...maybe, Mr. Potter, you remind him of his father— the man dropped him off one day, right here, with nuthin' but a newly-purchased pet bunny... Said he'll come back for him later. Ye'know— "She hiccupped "— they never come back."

Harry felt the revelation weighting on him like stone. No more than a boy, yet he had to watch his father abandon him... he had to watch families after families pass him by, because of his age. _How can such a small body handle so much suffering?_

A thought formed in Harry's head— _Perhaps Tom would like the company of a friend, a brother... A Muggle to grow up with Tom would be good for his developments, for changing his prejudices._

Harry pursed his lips. After some careful deliberation, Harry knelt in front of the sobbing boy, and asked gently.

"Dear child, would you like to come home with me?"

* * *

The little viper had never seen Tom lose control like this.

Even when the others called him names, hit him, spitted on him, Tom only sneered coldly, keeping all his emotions locked within, and plotted his revenge from the shadows. Now, a sudden, harrowing madness descended on this too-mature boy, twisting his childish features into something fiendish... Something, which Tom has managed to keep hidden all these years, exploded.

His small fingers twisted around the black scarf, pressing it into his palm, as if trying to absorb its wool into his bloodstream. Purple veins popped with the effort.

The viper snuck a look at the boy's face.

Tom was staring at the young man in front of him. Hatred masked his ebony eyes like dark clouds blotting out the sun. Tom grew paler, as his only hope — his one good childhood memory— shattered around him.

His expression— for there was no mistaking it — was pure, unadulterated loathing and anger.

_Directed at whom though, it wasn't clear._

The viper flicked her tongue, confused.

Tom was good at keeping his emotions hidden; at most, he wore a cold sneer that warned off all challengers. He was a snake, controlling the world from the shadows, always prepared to strike mercilessly. Tom was a snake; he did not lose control.

_So why is he losing his mind over some man adopting Billy?_

* * *

Tom stared at the young man's smiling face, green-eyes warmer than sunlight. Tom stared as he knelt in front of Billy, comforting the _moron_ with arms that should've been wrapped around Tom.

He gritted his teeth, pulling at the scarf, wishing he could tear it to pieces.

_"Mr. Potter said he will come back for you, Tom. I know it. He asked me to look after you."_

The young caretaker always told Tom.

Now her words were no more than the cruellest of mockeries, like sharp knives stabbing at his heart, over and over again.

The black scarf, that he loved so much, felt choking around his neck. Its existence was a mockery too, a mockery of his unattainable goals, a mockery of his naive hopes... a mockery of all his _waiting_.

He used to fall asleep every night with the cloak carefully wrapped around him. He used to fly into a deadly rage to protect the scarf. He used to be—so _naive_— so stupid for all the things he had done to preserve his last connection to this Mr. Potter.

_No more._

Tom wasn't the skinny boy who got beaten up in the courtyard. No more. Now, he controlled a power that they could only dream of — he was _better_ than all of them. And so... he didn't need them.

He didn't need the charity of this-so-called Mr. Potter!

However— regarding Billy Stubbs—

One day! One day soon!

* * *

"Billy?! Bill..ly is a good boy," Mrs. Cole waved her bottle. "Let's get it settled, then—"

"WAIT—" Harry stood up, still holding Billy's hand. "I'm looking for a boy. Tom Riddle."

Tom, who hid behind everyone, adjusted the scarf, and stepped forward through the parted crowds.

The little snake wrapped her body tightly around his arm. She felt his muscles relaxing, veins and tendons no longer straining against her scales. He looked calmer too, but, she could tell that his mood is only growing darker, bone-chilling with unseen wrath.

"I'm here," Tom said calmly. Jet-black hair and starry-night eyes, his face was as calm as the deep sea, so impenetrable that Harry couldn't detect a moment of happiness or surprise... or anything at all.

Harry recognized the scarf around Tom's neck. He smiled, remembering his adventure just eleven days ago.

"So... you've kept my scarf?"

"It's _my_ scarf now—" a greedy smirk appeared on the child's face.

Harry took a step back. That smirk looked familiar, exactly like Tom Riddle's face from the diary, the same handsome smile as Harry lay dying.

He had almost forgotten... _That_ _this little boy, in front of him, will become Voldemort!... __His swore enemy._

The cute little baby, whom he cradled in his arms once, was gone. Before Harry realized, the boy's features grew more and more alike Voldemort's, as inevitable as time progressing forward.

Harry took a deep breath, green-eyes assessing Tom Riddle's face, familiar yet so different.

He asked, tone stiff and unnatural.

"Do... do you want to come with me?"

The boy's lips twisted into a robotic smile, as if he knew it was expected of him, and replied politely.

"Yes, Mr. Potter. Thank you for your kindness."

That unfamiliar _"Mr. Potter"_ gave Harry pause. He looked at the old yet well-preserved scarf around the boy's thin neck, and, suddenly, his heart tightened.

* * *

"TOM— you knew this Mr. Potter, don't 'ye? He gave you that scarf?"

Billy stroked the rabbit fur slowly, watching as Tom gathered his few belongings into a suitcase. If Billy could see the devious glints in Tom's eyes, the boy would shut up so fast that he might bite off his own tongue... But, alas, the boy saw nothing, so he continued to boast.

"I thought fast— smart —and got Mr. Potter to notice me."

He stuck his nose up, very proud of his little tricks. He glanced over Tom's stiff body and looked down on the smaller boy with disdain, as if Tom was something stuck on the bottom of his shoes.

"Tom, you are the _extra_."

Tom clutched his fists. _An extra, is he?_

When the young man faced Billy, he was so gentle, so intoxicatingly lovely, he said,

_"Dear child, would you like to come home with me?"_

But, when faced with Tom, the young man's expression turned stiff, green-eyes looking to the floor, as if the same words were more difficult to say.

_"Do... do you want to come with me?"_

Everyone could see the difference. Everyone could see who Mr. Potter preferred.

Yes, Tom was the _extra_. The unwanted one, yet again.

"Riddle, save yourself some trouble and don't pack a thing. You'll be back soon enough—"

Billy snickered, tickling his rabbit. A cruel glee bloomed on his face, and he almost looked sweet, innocent, like the good little boy he was.

* * *

"Are you two ready? We should go—" Harry's warm voice, as soothing as the spring's rain, came from the doorway.

Billy cheered, and ran to his side. He pointed to a backpack by his feet. The brunette boy smiled eagerly, eyes turning into crescent moons.

"Yes, I'm ready. Harry."

"Good boy," Harry smiled and rewarded him with a pat on the head.

Tom pinched himself to calm his anger. He allowed himself a moment, until the darkness receded from his eyes. He grabbed his suitcase and turned toward Harry.

"I'm ready too... Mr. Potter."

Harry probably should've patted Tom on the head too, or to reach out for his hands. But the more Harry looked upon Tom's childish face, the more he remembered the diary Riddle's cruel sneers. And he couldn't find the right words. Instead, he grabbed Billy's hand and led them out of the room.

"Aye? Tom? You've forgot your cloak—"

Billy pointed to the black cloak left behind on Tom's bed, tagging on Harry's hand triumphantly, the rabbit by his side as always. His smugness was clearly designed to provoke Tom.

Tom followed them docilely. He paused upon hearing Billy's challenge, fingernails cutting into his fisted palms.

"I don't want it anymore...It's torn."

* * *

Billy, dude, you deserves an Oscar...


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

NOTE: This is a translation of a Chinese HP Fanfiction by **墨玉绿**

_**parseltongue**_

* * *

**December 20, 1932.**

Harry sat in front of the fire-place, cross-legged, and stroked the fire with an iron poker.

They lived in a large house in the suburb of London. His name — _Harry Potter_ — painted neatly on the mailbox. Although the Weasley twins were well-known jokesters, their abilities were equally unquestionable. In eleven short days, they managed to get Harry everything he needed— from a birth certificate to a bank account large enough to buy a house.

The two children were in bed. The empty silence of the large house seemed lonely.

Harry inspected the Slytherin's Lockets. Its smooth, golden curvatures reflected the orange glow of the fire, and the lights bounced into Harry's green eyes. He was deep in thoughts. _The Horcrux couldn't have just vanished without a cause_... Harry was sure Tom's presence had something to do with it.

Harry sighed. Magical theory was not his speciality... better leave it for Hermione. He tucked the Locket away and rubbed his temple.

He waited until the fire went out, until the coals went dead as its burning redness receded. Then, Harry dragged himself to bed.

Even the softest feather bed was not enough to comfort his exhausted body. Harry stared at the ceiling in the darkness; his versions blurred.

He felt so tired, like he was lost in a maze, a gigantic, endless maze more dangerous than the one in the Triwizard Tournament. He ran; he screamed; he searched for an exit, but there were none. He was alone, in the dark— a trapped lab rat in a maze— as Fate watches him from above, omniscient as it build more and more walls around him.

So Harry had adopted Tom successfully. Yet, Fate hasn't made its move.

Harry turned over in bed. He couldn't get these terrible thoughts out of his head.

Hermione had said, Fate allowed certain changes to happen, because it believes those changes are minor in the grand scheme of History. If Fate didn't care if Harry adopted Tom... then... does it mean that no matter what Harry does, Tom will always end up becoming Voldemort?

_The Dark Lord. You-know-who. Mass murderer._ _Voldemort._

Harry covered his eyes. He laughed bitterly. Then, alone in the darkness, for the briefest moment, Harry regretted his decision. The thought spread through his mind like a virus, latching onto his weakness, poisoning his resolve.

Harry sprung up in bed, shaking with cold sweat. _He mustn't think these thoughts_. One moment of weakness and he will lose the war. He will lose everything. There was no going back.

Harry was scared— scared of the unknown, of the future. He wanted to go home.

Suddenly, Harry realized what he needs to do— right now, he needs to go see the boy.

* * *

Tom lied on his bed, eyes-shut, but he wasn't asleep.

His room wasn't very big, just enough for two twin-sized beds, but it was warm and his duvet was soft. Tom should be sleeping. After the long, exciting day he had, Tom needed to rest and preserve his energy.

But he couldn't sleep. The anger only made his mind clearer, sharper.

Billy Stubbs scrawled on the bed next to Tom's, snoring loudly. Tom sneered. The boy needs to thank Mr. Potter for putting them in separate beds, or Tom would have strangled him in his sleep... _Come to think of it, Tom still might._

The little snake was still wrapped around Tom's wrist. Unlike most reptiles, its magical body required no hibernation. Tom contemplated on ordering his pet to use her deadly poison on the boy and his disgusting rabbit. Tomorrow, the headlines will lament how a foolish boy accidently disturbed the nest of a hibernating viper, and, sadly, he passed away shortly after being bitten.

In the darkness, the child's face twisted with a savage satisfaction.

Suddenly, the door squeaked, its sound very clear in the night. Tom withdrew his thoughts, one hand on his wrist, prepared to wake his pet at a moment's notice. He listened carefully, readying to attack.

The fire continued to crackle in the furnace. There were sounds of muffed footsteps. Tom opened his eyes to a slit and watched as, from the shadows reflected on the window pane, an intruder approaching them on tip-toes. It was Mr. Potter, who stopped in front of Billy's bed.

The reflection betrayed Mr. Potter's movements clearly. Gently, he pulled up the half-fallen duvet and tucked it under Billy's chin, wrapping the boy tightly, as if he thought a new furnace was not enough for his precious charge. _A rustling of fabrics_, almost inaudible as the fire crackled.

Tom lied on his side, his back toward Mr. Potter, but his eyes glued on the young man's reflection. On the window pane, the blurry shapes somehow looked perfectly clear to Tom. He could see the smile that lingered on those red lips. A smile that wasn't meant for Tom... Tom bit his lips.

He didn't care for Mr. Potter's smile! It was so fake, the smile of a disgustingly hypocritical man. Tom didn't care... so why does he feel like choking at sight of those lips?

Tom glared at the glass pane, dark eyes unwavering, perhaps hoping he could shatter it with his mind.

The face on the window pane turned away from Billy. Tom watched as the shape moved toward his bed. Then, he hurriedly closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. His fists tightened, as if readying for battle.

Tom always took care of himself. He tucked himself in, and he never kicked his duvet off the bed. If you were dumb enough to sleep like Billy, within the cold walls of the orphanage, then you deserved to die of influenza. Tom's duvet remained wrapped around himself tightly, fitting perfectly. So there was no reason for Mr. Potter to tuck in his sheets...

Besides, judging by the man's attitude toward Tom, he won't lift a finger even if Tom was lying— dying —in the snow.

The boy squeezed his eyes tight, feigning asleep. His mind mocked him with terrible and wonderful thoughts. Tom's fingernails bit into his flesh, almost drawing blood, yet no clue on the boy's face betrayed his inner turmoil. Again and again, Tom stabbed his own heart with cruel words that borderline on masochistic... He wanted to keep a clear head, no false hopes, but he couldn't kill the yearning that bloomed within his heart.

No matter how hard Tom tried to act mature and rational, he was still a four-years-old boy. Although Tom never knew love, he still hoped for it... even just for a little bit.

So, eyes-closed, Tom waited.

He waited. One second passed, then two, then three— even if Tom thought such hopes were childish and beneath him — _He waited._

_Nothing_.

_See, he doesn't like you,_ a sharp voice penetrated his mind. No one was coming, nothing but the fire crackling and the wind howling outside. Tom's pretence fell away. Such a stupid tactic, pretending to be asleep waiting for Mr. Potter, it was a mockery to Tom's intelligence. _So stupid of him._

_He_ _left already, while you waited like an idiot._

Tom exhaled deeply, and ignored the strange sadness that spread in his chest. He opened his eyes.

"Sorry, did I wake you?"

Harry's green orbs locked with Tom's dark eyes. The black-haired young man sat on the floor by Tom's bed, in silence, eyes fixed on the child's sleeping face. Their eyes met. The sight of those crystal-clear emerald eyes struck Tom to the core. His normally fast-paced brain froze and, slowly and unintentionally, the tension uncoiled.

"I'm leaving now... Go back to sleep." The man soothed in his quiet voice, a little embarrassed at being caught. He got up to leave.

Tom looked up at him in a daze. He didn't know what to say.

The boy's large eyes followed Harry, a flash of vulnerability in those deep, ebony orbs, brief like extinguishing flames.

Harry hesitated. He pursed his lips and laid a hand carefully on the boy's forehead.

"Go to sleep."

* * *

Tom wrapped himself tightly in the duvet. His forehead tickled; the man's warm touch lingered on his skin.

That one simple gesture was almost enough to tear down the walls of hatred that the boy built around himself.

Tom was never soft, tender or caring. He wouldn't hesitate to rob a staving man of his last piece of bread. But... when the dark-haired young man sat next to his bed, breathing quietly, watching Tom with clear, caring green-eyes, unmarked by scorn or rejection— those eyes made Tom feel like the most important person in the world. Tom thought he could look into those eyes forever.

Suddenly, unexplainable emotions washed over Tom. His chest hurt and something lumped in his throat. The unfamiliar bursts scared him.

He closed his eyes. Mr. Potter's images filled his head.

Tom cocooned himself into the duvet. He felt weird.

But... he didn't dislike those feelings.

* * *

Next day, the sky was clear. Warm sunlight dispersed the winter's gloominess, and brought life back to London.

Tom woke as soon as he felt warm sunshine on his face. He tended to be sensitive to lights.

Billy was still asleep. His pet rabbit was awake, though, red-eyes turning toward Tom, pink lips trembling.

Tom glared at the dumb animal.

_**"Can I eat him, Tom?"**_ The little snake climbed up Tom's arm, drooling at the sight of the fat creature.

Tom's eyes zoomed toward a brand-new set of clothes on his bed. Billy had a similar set on his bed too. Tom's thin lips twitched, his smile not entirely genuine.

_**"Of course... You can eat the human too, for that matter... But... wait until it and its idiotic master are sent back to the Orphanage."**_

The viper seemed surprised. It hissed in Tom's ears. _**"Then, are you staying here? And are you planning to chase him out?"**_

Tom buttoned up his shirt. The fresh, black cashmere sweater fitted snugly on his body. With his new, expensive clothes, he looked very handsome. Soft hair tucked neatly behind his ears, lustrous as the best black pearls. The four-years-old sat on his bed and glared at Billy's face, pink flesh poking out from under the duvet.

He chuckled darkly.

_**"Here—this — all is rightfully mine, so why should I leave? All is rightfully mine... And he will not enjoy any of it!"**_

Cheerfully, Tom bounced over to Billy's bed. His hands wrapped around the Muggle boy's exposed throat, then tightened.

The pain startled the boy awake.

He coughed. "TOM!... Ugh—Ugh— What are you doing!**"**

Tom watched as Billy clawed at the hands around his throat; he grinned brightly.

* * *

On the future of this fic:

1) Note that this story progress very slowly... The author published 60ish chapters already and those two are still not together. Tom/Harry's relationship gets pretty dark and twisted. You have been _warned_.

2) Tom is a psychopath ( or high-functioning sociopath, whichever you prefer...) and Harry is a bit of bleeding-heart. That's not going to change.

3) However, the author DID promise a happy ending. So Tom/Harry will end up together. Let's hold her to that.

Thanks for reading


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

NOTE: This is a translation of a Chinese HP Fanfiction by **墨玉绿**

_**parseltongue**_

* * *

**December 1932**

After that night, nothing seemed to have changed. Harry's expression remained stiff when faced with Tom, yet he was so gentle to Billy.

Obviously, Billy was pleased by the preferential treatments. He spent all his time glued to Harry's side, spitting seemingly innocuous words that were designed to upset Tom. Tom grew silent in face of the other boy's challenges, eyes morose with darkness. Harry saw _it_, the unfriendliness, but he didn't know how to repair their relationship.

"HARRY! Look at the rabbit that I drew!" Billy thrust a piece of paper in Harry's hands.

Harry put down the documents from Dumbledore's Army. He smiled with his usual warmth and spread the picture on the table.

It was, indeed, a rabbit. Although one can only tell from the two elongated ears poking out of a mess of squiggly lines, the rest was... imaginative. The silly, abstractly-formed rabbit lightened Harry's mood. _Perhaps he was worrying too much_.

He rubbed the boy's head, and praised. "It looks great, Billy!"

The boy's eyes flashed. Then, he said to Harry, in the sweetest voice he could muster.

"Tom's drawing looks good too!"

"Oh?" Harry was actually curious. _What does Voldemort's childhood doodle look like?_

Tom, who sat silently near-by, raised his head as his name was mentioned. Harry smiled at him encouragingly. Tom paused; before he could react, Billy snatched away his drawing without permission and presented the paper to Harry eagerly.

Tom pursed his lips and clutched the crayons in his hand. His eyes searched Harry's face, which almost seemed like he was nervous.

Harry stared at the drawing. It was coloured all in black, filled with messy lines that resemble dark clouds rolling in the storm. In the middle of the paper, outlined with white markers, was a neatly reproduced symbol that was — unfortunately — much less abstract than Billy's bunny. Harry had no problem recognizing that symbol — it was a large, white skull.

To Harry, it looked awfully familiar. Yes, he had seen it... On many dark, dreadful nights, the green projection of the giant skull dominated the starless sky. A snake slithering out of its open mouth, its fluorescent body resided above the deaths that inevitable occurred by its master's hand. People, who saw it, ran from it, screaming, "You-Know-Who!"

"I don't feel well... I'm going to bed," Harry stood up suddenly. "You have fun, boys... Good night."

Then, he practically bolted from the room, almost tripping over the carpet.

"See, he doesn't like you," Billy said triumphantly. Sticking his tongue out proudly, Billy sauntered pass Tom, bumping into his shoulder. The boy whispered into Tom's ears. "Say... if Harry knew what a freak you are, what do you think he'll do?"

Tom looked up abruptly, but the cowardly fool was already meters away, smiling at him with false friendliness.

"See, Riddle, I've told you that... you don't have to pack anything. You'll be sent back soon enough." The door slammed shut with a loud bang, and, suddenly, Tom was the only one left in the enormous study.

Tom stayed glued to his seat, still as a statue.

_**"Tom—"**_ the little snake crawled out of his sleeves. Her cold-blooded body rubbed against Tom's cool cheeks, comforting him in the only way she can.

_**"He does like me—"**_ Tom hissed, patting the viper with his thumb.

She didn't have an answer for him. Snakes are solitary creatures. They do not possess a social brain and thus, her tiny mind couldn't understand the complexity of human interactions.

She couldn't understand, for example, why Tom, who was clearly fond of this Potter human, never even smiles at the man? Even if smiling was easy for human, as she had seen Billy pretends to smile all the time.

She couldn't understand, even more so, why did that Mr. Potter, who was equally fond of Tom, never even hugs the boy like he hugs Billy? Even if, after Tom fell asleep, the man would take the trouble to sit by the Tom's bedside, watching for a long time, guarding the boy when he could not know.

Life would be better without that Billy human, she decided. If only stupid Billy is gone, then little Tom won't be so sad anymore; for, even if Tom's face showed no weakness, she knew he was sad... Also, if only stupid Billy is gone, the, finally, she would be free to feast on that annoying rabbit. _If only..._

* * *

Harry couldn't discern his own emotions.

Every times he thinks about the boy, he remembered the day that Tom was born, the tiny, soft bundle sleeping in his arms. Harry swore to himself that he will always look after this child, ensuring him a happy, healthy childhood. But as the boy grew older, his ebony eyes became coloured by Voldemort's scarlet anger; his face took on Voldemort's cruel, emotionless mask; and even his thoughts, so mature for his age, tended toward Voldemort's vast ambitions — so merciless and cold — all things that Harry found hard to accept.

He thought about that drawing.

He must admit that Tom's a genius. Even yet to turn five, Tom's undisciplined hands were able to reproduce such detailed and realistic drawings. Harry chuckled despite himself.

After the initial shock wore off, though, Harry realized how careless his actions were... He remembered Tom's face turning ghastly pale as Harry ran from the room— ran to get away from Tom— and suddenly, he realized , unintentionally, he had been treating Tom unfairly, especially in comparison to Billy. This was— perhaps —because Billy tended to act more like a child, immature and attention-seeking. While Tom was... Tom was more independent, capable; he liked to solve his own problems instead of running to Harry for help.

The crying baby get the milk first, as the idiom goes.

Harry sat up in bed, feeling guilty. Now that Harry thought about it, all of their interactions seemed to consist of Billy talking excitedly to Harry and Tom sitting aside, watching them in silence, as if he was a bystander in this newly-formed family. Guilt weighted on Harry's back like stone. Carelessness was no excuse for negligence... and Harry has failed Tom, as the extremely smart boy was sure to notice.

Tom's proud and boyish eyes flashed in Harry's mind, piercing his conscious like the stares of wounded wolf cub. Harry pursed his lips. His chest hurt, as bitter regret rose to his throat.

_Is Harry actually helping Tom?... Or is he actually pushing the boy down the path towards becoming Voldemort?_ Harry shook with cold sweat, as the sudden realization popped into his head.

Harry pushed open his bedroom door and happened to see Tom striding toward him. The boy walked with a military precision, every step calculated to be the same uniform length, as if he's a robot pretending to be a boy.

"Mr. Potter," the boy greeted politely. He deliberately moved around Harry, and walked faster down the hall.

The unfamiliar title struck Harry like a tone of bricks. The child didn't even feel comfortable enough to address him by name.

"TOM! —" Harry yelled after the child, but, as the boy turned to face him, Harry didn't know what to say. He licked his lips nervously. Then, seemingly remembering something urgent, Harry turned and ran downstairs. " TOM! — Wait for me. I'll be back soon."

The front door slammed behind him.

The child stood by the staircase, watching through the window as the young man ran across the street, his coat still unbuttoned in his rush. He lowered his eyes, a shadow passed through them, grim and unreadable.

_**"Tom... I'm sleepy. Let's go to our room—"**_ The snake poked her head from Tom's shirt collar, and insisted for them to go back to the warmly-heated bedroom.

The boy hesitated, then, he set her on the floor gently. _**"You go on back... without me—"**_

* * *

Harry didn't know it would take so long to find what he's looking for... He walked to the end of the street, and, finally, found a convenience store that sold the thing he wanted.

By the time Harry returned home, it was way past dinner time.

"Tom?"

The house was dark. All the lights were off and Harry couldn't see a thing. He called the boy's name, gently, as he walked into the dark living room.

No one answered.

Harry stood in silence, until his eyes got used to the dimly-lit interior. Immediately, he noticed the small body slumping on the sofa.

The boy had fallen asleep on the sofa! Harry watched the boy's peaceful sleeping face and smiled tenderly. He wanted to laugh at his own stupidity... Yes, Harry is being stupid — _Tom isn't Voldemort_— and, even if that is in their future, the boy isn't Voldemort right now... At least, right now, he was a child who would fall asleep while waiting for Harry to come home.

Harry smiled. He placed the newly purchased parcel next to the boy. His eyes inspected the boy's fine features lovingly, then, he pulled a blanket over the child's small body. Quietly, Harry went into the kitchen to prepare dinner. Harry's steps springy with energy, as if a huge weight just lifted off his shoulder.

* * *

_**"Tom, what is that in your handssss?"**_ The snake slipped under the duvet, staring curiously at the box in Tom's hands.

The four-years-old grinned, clutching the box tight. A wonderful, childish elation appeared on his face, a pure sort of happiness that she has never seen on his face. Dressed in his adorable, puppy-print pyjamas, the boy sat on his bed and opened the box in his hands. He showed her the content of the precious box— a new set of twelve multi-coloured crayons laid in a row, their waxy colours shone like the rainbow under the furnace's glow.  
_**  
"What are those?"**_

_**"Crayons. For me... Ssssso I can draw more skulls."**_


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

NOTE: This is a translation of a Chinese HP fanfiction by **墨玉绿**

BETA: the great and wonderful **Paperthins**.

* * *

**December 1932**

Billy Stubbs thought that something had changed while he wasn't looking.

For example, Tom didn't avoid them anymore. For example, Harry no longer looked at the floor while speaking to Tom. For example, Harry brought Tom a new box of crayons, which Tom treasured greatly, hiding it at a safe place away from Billy.

Billy was very unsatisfied with the new developments. He begged Harry until the man brought him crayons too, but... _it wasn't the same._

See, he really liked Harry; but then any orphan would… even the freaky Tom Riddle. This was because Harry was the best adoptive parent that any child could hope for. The man was young, gentle, patient, and considerate. He never raised his voice against them, even when the children played rowdy games inside the new house.

And so, it was important for Billy to keep Harry's affection all to himself—a sentiment, which he firmly believed, was also shared by Riddle. And that, he thought, was simply unacceptable. Holding his pet rabbit as always, Billy stood on the top of the stairs, inspecting the house that ought to belong to him. He stroked the rabbit's fur, preoccupied by his own thoughts.

There was no need to worry. He could handle a four years old Tom Riddle, because Tom Riddle was a freak—an unmistakable monster who will never be accepted. If Billy wanted, he could expose Tom anytime and send the boy packing back to the orphanage. One child was enough for Harry—Billy could easily make it happen, if only he could trick Tom into revealing his unnatural abilities.

* * *

"Harry! Harry, I want to listen to a story." Billy leaned back on his bed, one hand holding the rabbit, the other tagging on Harry's shirt persistently.

Harry acquiesced. He turned to ask Tom, who was lying on the opposite bed. "How about you, Tom?"

From the corner of his eyes, Tom noticed the jealous hatred flashing across Billy's face. It pleased him, so although Tom had no interest in fairytales, he nodded at Harry.

"Ok... How about _The Selfish Giant _by Oscar Wilde?"

"Harry— " Billy interrupted. "Do giants really exist?"

Tom's mocking, black eyes fixed on Billy's face, taking in the boy's curious, expectant expression; only an idiot would believe that fairytales creatures are real.

"Of course they do," Tom's disdain was cut short by Harry's words. "They live in another world."

For Harry, Billy's question brought up memories of the past. Speaking of giants, the first thing that popped into his mind was the image of Hagrid the half-giant, with his bushy beard trembling as he laughed throatily.

Tom was transfixed by the warm smile that appeared on Harry's lips. Its gentle curves caught within his ebony eyes, captivatingly beautiful as Tom stared unmoving, as if that smile somehow managed to turn him into stone.

"Harry, I don't want to listen to _The Selfish Giant_. Instead, tell me more about giants." Billy begged. He even turned to Tom for help. "Tom wants to know more about giants too. Don't you, Tom?"

Billy's question snapped Tom from his mesmerised staring. The boy blinked, ebony eyes flashing with wants.

"Yes," he replied absentmindedly.

Harry smiled. "Alright. Once upon a time, there was a boy, whose mother was a giant and his father a human. So he grew up smaller than all the giant children, but bigger than all the human children. His palms are as big as fans, like this big—"

"Wow!" Billy yelled, eyes wide. "Cool!"

Billy's wide-eyed expression reminded Harry of his first trip on the Hogwarts Express, of the same surprised look on Ron's face when Harry showed him his scar. The memory made Harry smile again and he couldn't help but reach out to rub the boy's hair.

"Actually, it isn't so cool." Harry continued bitterly. "The giants took one look at him and said he wasn't one of them. The humans said the same. Being rejected twice… isn't so cool, after all."

"Then what happened?"

"Then luckily, the boy got accepted into a school. The old Headmaster treated him well, helped him, and forgave him even when he made mistakes. Even after the boy was expelled, the kind Headmaster took him in, and charged him with protecting the school."

_And so the half-giant half boy continued to protect the school, even to this day, even when the school was almost overrun with Death Eaters. He protected the school even when his life was in danger._

Tom noticed the wistful and melancholy expression on Harry's face and suddenly, he knew he disliked that giant fellow, even if they had never met before and he was not real.

"If he was bigger than all the humans, why didn't he just conquer them? If he ruled over them, they would _have to_ accept him—" Tom stated his question like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

This was the first in a long time that Tom had taken an interest in their discussions; it was also the first time he had addressed a question directly to Harry.

Harry didn't know whether to be flattered by the attention or concerned. _Or perhaps I should commend the young Dark-Lord-to-be for thinking about the big picture_, Harry thought drily.

"Tom, acceptance cannot originate from fear, but from respect." Harry said solemnly as he looked into the boy's curious eyes, as bright as stars in the night sky.

Tom's dark eyes clashed with green ones. He lifted his chin proudly, nonverbally expressing his disagreement—because to the four years old child, respect was utterly useless. In fact, all positive emotions were useless, including love, empathy, responsibility. They were, to Tom, no more than false ornaments of society, all of which would so easily shatter in face of true adversity and danger.

On the other hand, negative emotions were the only effective ones. They were more threatening and therefore persuasive. Fear, dread, and anger were all great motivators— they would help Tom obtain and consolidate power, which was how he survived at the orphanage.

"I want to go to sleep!" Billy exclaimed, deliberately breaking their moment. He tugged at Harry's hand, forcing the man to turn his eyes away from Tom. Behind Harry's back, Tom gave Billy a warning glare, and his fingers ran across the scales of his viper that had silently appeared around his wrists. The older boy stiffed; he seemed to have gotten the massage.

Harry stood up and helped them adjust the flames that burned brightly in the furnace.

"Yes, you two should go to sleep."

Suddenly, Billy reached out his arms and whined loudly. "_Harry_, my goodnight kiss."

Harry lowered his head and pressed his lips against the boy's forehead. "Alright... goodnight."

He turned and saw Tom sitting on his bed. The boy's posture stiffened proudly. Harry hesitated; he couldn't quite imagine himself kissing Voldemort goodnight. His fleeting hesitation did not escape notice by either boys.

Billy chose this unfortunate moment to shout at them.

"Harry, you forgot Tom's goodnight kiss!"

Harry smiled wryly, and thought he could escape the situation by joking about it; yet as he looked at Tom, his heart tightened as soon as he caught sight of the dark haired boy.

At first glance, the boy's face looked calm, a careful mask of serenity, as if he hadn't heard them at all. However upon looking more closely, Harry could see Tom's thin shoulders slumping with disappointment. But ,of course, Tom would never complain. The child would never ask, let alone beg to anyone for anything, no matter how much he wanted it.

Harry berated himself. Before he fully realized, his body acted before his brain. He bent forward, until he was at the eye-level with the child, and brushed strands of black hair from the pale face. Harry gave Tom a quick peck on the forehead, lips tender and warm against cool skin.

"Goodnight, Tom. Sweet dreams," Harry said, then left.

Tom remained seated on his bed for a long time, his own hands pressed against his forehead, seemingly frozen into place.

Carefully, the snake poked her head from his sleeves, while trying to avoid Billy's inquisitive glaze and hissed in Tom's ears. "_**Tom, are you alright? You are acting weird—"**_

Tom's mask had been dangerously close to cracking, before his face immediately became blank again. He ran his long slender fingers through his hair and let his bangs fall back in place. Then, he lay down in bed and went to sleep. He never answered her question directly, although he did award the snake with a strange, unreadable look before dozing off. _Whatever that meant,_ she thought.

* * *

Everything seemed to be going well. As they grew more familiar with each others' routines, they almost seemed like a real family.

Frustrated, Billy discovered that he couldn't trick Tom into revealing his abilities. Originally he had thought it would be easy to provoke Tom, but now he discovered that the four-years-old had impeccable self-control; nothing, no amount of insult or abuse, could make the child lose grip of his anger. Tom's boyish, handsome face wore the prefect mask, impenetrable like the disguise of the devil. His eyes regarded Billy with cold mockery, as if the older boy was merely a clown at the circus, unworthy of any attention except to be laughed at. It made Billy angry.

"_Freak_," Billy whispered to his rabbit, as he continued to stroke its fur.

Tom never thought much of Billy.

Oh, he knew what the boy was up to, alright. That idiot wanted to coerce him into show his true powers. If Harry saw it, the young man would join Billy together in accusation; pointing at Tom and screaming, "Freak! Freak!" Tom clutched his fists, a mad grin twisting his sharp face into madness. He wasn't afraid of the things that people said about him, even if… Tom didn't care even if Harry would join them, he decided. All he desired was to become the most powerful of them all— then Tom would sit atop his throne, staring down as they lay trembling by his feet, bowing to the-one-who-is-a-freak.

He smirked. Not yet_; _right now, he must be patient for he needed more power. He had to stay here, in the best environment possible until he grows more powerful, enough to survive on his own. In case Harry ever found out that he was a freak; in case the young man ever betrays Tom, he must grow powerful enough to muster the strength to kill him. Betrayal would result in death; this was all logical in his young mind.

The boy's eyes flashed. His murderous, grim expression scared even the little snake, which quickly slithered into his pocket.

"Tom, are you ready to go?"

On the second floor, the boy stood staring down at the smiling young man, through the space between carved handrails of the stairs. Tom licked his lips, eyes latched on Harry's face. For the first time in his young life, Tom thanked Fortune— yes, it indeed was a good thing that Harry didn't know the truth.

Tom then looked at Billy who stood beside Harry, holding the dumb rabbit, and his eyes turned darker still. He walked down the stairs, with slow and deliberate steps.

Yes, it was a good thing that Harry doesn't know the truth, and Tom was determined to keep it that way!

* * *

"Harry, can people make things fly?" Billy asked loudly, glaring at Tom out of the corner of his eyes. He grabbed his rabbit with one hand, and tugged onto Harry's hand with the other.

Harry nodded, surprised._ Shouldn't this question be from Tom?_

"Why, yes, of course."

Billy frowned in puzzlement at the unexpected answer.

"First hold a small bird in your hands, then... just let go. It'll fly away, see?" Harry chuckled at his own joke, emerald eyes warm and bright.

Through the lens of his round glasses, Harry's eyes glinted with a mischievous joy. The laughter coloured his normally pale cheeks with a lovely rosy shade and made the man look younger, livelier. Tom wrapped his fingers around Harry's other hand; eyes unable to look away from the man's face.

Billy opened his mouth, but they had arrived at their destination. Tom stood behind Harry, and glared at the other boy, cold eyes sending chills down Billy's spine. Billy clutched his pet tighter and inched closer to Harry.

Suddenly Tom smiled at the newcomer, a wonderfully sweet smile that looked adorable on the his young face.

"Tom, Billy. Meet Headmaster Marco," Harry gently nudged them forward. "You'll be attending his school soon, right after Christmas."

However an incident happened right before Christmas, and changed everything.

* * *

"Hey, Toooom," Billy cooed mockingly. "Would you be more upset to return to the orphanage before or after Christmas?" He stroked lovingly at the rabbit in his arms. The poor creature's leg was bandaged as it trembled under its master's touch, as if the rabbit understood the boy's devious plans.

Tom sat still on his bed. His face grew increasingly darker with suppressed anger; a dangerous storm brewing in his black eyes.

Outside their bedroom window a carriage stopped, as the horses screeched to a halt. The front gates immediately clicked open.

Billy grinned. "Harry's carriage is back. Too bad you can't spend Christmas with us Tom, because... because you tried to kill my poor, defenceless bunny."

He squeezed the rabbit's injured leg. It squealed, and desperately tried to leap away from him.

"Tom, are you familiar with concept of frame up?" The boy sounded casual, pleasant, as if he was merely discussing the weather.

Tom clutched his duvet, his knuckles white, lips tight with anger. He did not reply.

Then ,suddenly, everything in the room started to shake, like in an earthquake. Scattered around their beds, loose papers and books shook and rose into the air.

"FREAK!" Billy screamed in delight. He stood up, arms around the rabbit, in midst of the swarm of levitating furniture, a panicked expression on his face. He looked around wildly, as objects zoomed by, almost smashing into him. Billy's face held a look of terror, yet his eyes hid a satisfied glint.

_This ought to be enough to get rid of Tom! _

Harry heard Billy's scream all the way from the living room. He gave a worried shout; the children could hear footsteps rushing on the staircase.

As furniture floated in the air, Billy looked up at them. A devious smirk grew on his lips.

"Tom, it looks like... you've lost."

* * *

**Reviews are extremely appreciated so we can know how to make the fic more enjoyable for you, the readers :)**

Poor Harry, all the psychos seem rather fond of him... Good-luck!

_from the beta: hope you guys liked this chapter! dun dun dun dun… what's going to happen to Tom now?_


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

NOTE: This is a translation of a Chinese HP Fanfiction by **墨玉绿**

BETA: the great and wonderful **Paperthins**.

_**parseltongue**_

* * *

**December 1932**

Everything was a blur. Tom's vision focused on Billy's yapping mouth in front of him. The boy was complaining loudly, or perhaps even crying, but Tom couldn't hear what was being said. All he could focus on was Billy's eyes, staring at him with malicious triumph. The rabbit laid by Tom's side, its injured legs stretched pathetically— dust, fur, and flesh clung onto exposed bone, sickening and raw; a bloody mess. The stench of blood drew out the little snake. She poked her head out from Tom's sleeves, but retracted quickly as they had company.

The young child wasn't afraid of blood. In fact, he had an almost unhealthy fascination with the dark liquid. He liked the red colour that was thick and dark with despair; he liked how it dried quickly after spilling and the stickiness on his fingers. He studied bloods before, and he noticed how a rabbit's blood wasn't as thick as human's. It wasn't as red, it wasn't as radiant, like burning flames that dazzle the eyes.

He definitely wasn't afraid of blood, but when those emerald eyes turned towards him —wide with shock and distrust— his own blood turned into ice!

Tom did nothing. All he did was to stand there beside the rabbit. Suddenly Billy screamed and cried his lungs out, hitting Tom with angry fists. In the end, the older boy had a valuable three years of life experience over Tom, so he knew when to act quickly. His cruelty and tricks was finally winning out.

Everything had proceeded according to Billy's plans.

Harry arrived just in time to witness the bloody aftermath — the injured rabbit, the broken furniture, the scattered toys and... Tom was standing in the middle of it all.

Billy was delighted to see the man's pupils constrict in shock. The boy couldn't have known this, but his plan accidently hit right on target. In Harry's mind, the bloody mess conjured up memories of the battle field, the deaths, the war, and stirred up his hatred and fear for Voldemort. It was almost _too good_.

Even Tom responded as Billy planned! The boy stood beside the rabbit, frozen in place, no pleas of innocence whatsoever. Perhaps the shock had overtook his brain or perhaps his pride won't let him explain. However the look in Tom's eyes still pissed Billy off; those same superior, piercing eyes, looking past him as if he was unworthy of attention.

The boy stood still, eyes focused on Harry's approaching steps, his face stubborn and sombre, just like the boy in the pensieve.

"Tom... I don't want to give up on you, so don't force me—"

Harry met Tom's silent stares. He closed his eyes, pained as he shakily uttered the threat. He picked up the rabbit and the stench of blood filled his nostrils. The man's quiet words landed like a hammer against Tom's ears, deliberately striking the most vulnerable parts of him, again and again, until his legs shook under the pressure.

Harry carried the rabbit out of the room quickly and didn't looked back.

Billy and Tom were left back in the room, with only silence.

Tom squeezed his numb fingers. Only when Harry went completely out of his sight, did he remember to breath. The air rushed painfully into his lungs, and it hurt so much. However Tom didn't pay any attention to the throbbing pains, right now all he could focus on was the terrible, burning anger that all but consumed him.

He was angry. _So angry._ Angry at Harry, who didn't believe in him, who didn't even wait before condemning him for the crime. Angry at those green eyes, which turned accusing against him, like needles through his heart. And angry at himself... for caring.

Don't be stupid, he thought. He doesn't like me! He never did!

Everything became clear at once: the man's stiffness when they first met, the man's avoiding eyes when they spoke. Everything confirmed what Tom already knew, that everything was a lie! The good memories of the past two weeks, the gift and the affections were only pretenses, a cruel and fragile illusion put on to teach Tom a lesson. Fake! They were all faked.

_Know this, Harry. You are not the one to give up on me, I am the one who will choose to leave! _

Tom's chest heaved painfully as he reached his decision. He exhaled and to his own surprise, a sob escaped from his lips.

"Good thing rabbits can't talk, or else this magic trick would be going down fast," Billy said suddenly, breaking the silence with a smirk and a shrug. "So... luckily for me, they can't!"

Tom stood still, refusing to acknowledge him.

Billy was disappointed by the other child's lack of reactions. The whole scenario was more… boring than what he had hoped for. He left the room quickly.

In the messy bedroom, silence clung to the walls. Books and toys were scattered on the floor, which seemed very normal for the bedroom of two young boys, save for a brilliantly red stain covering the bed.

When it was safe, the viper slithered out and climbed up Tom's arm.

_**"But, Tom... You didn't do it, why didn't you explain?"**_

_**"Hm... Explain what?"**_ Tom stared at the bloodstain, and then he laughed. His laughter turned into soft hisses as he explained to her, in a sweet tone which barely concealed the murderous rage that lay beneath.

_**"Explaining wouldn't make Harry believe me. Explaining wouldn't make Billy hurt. Explaining wouldn't turn back time... So why should I explain?"**_

Even to her reptilian ears, his childish laughter sounded mad and terrifying. She wrapped herself around his shoulder. _**"Harry is kind, if Tom would just explain to him—"**_

Tom's eyes narrowed. No trace of emotion was left in those eyes, nothing but the cold emptiness, protected by a darkness that devoured all hope.

No more hope, he thought. No more disappointments.

Suddenly, a vicious smirk blossomed on his thin face. Since his childish hope had been dashed, there was no reason to stay here. Since there was nothing holding him back, then as his parting gift, he shall give them a memory that will terrorize them forever!

* * *

When Billy returned to the bedroom to taunt him, Tom unleashed his full wrath on the foolish boy. His familiar yet mysterious power flooded the room in full ravenous force; the caged beast was finally set free.

_Would you be more upset to return to the orphanage before or after Christmas?_

Even if Tom warned himself to not care, even if he knew the taunts were a part of Billy's plan, those words still ignited his rage like no other. _He_ was the one who decided to leave! He made the decision, for himself, by himself, and yet... why did his heart hurt so much? It ached like all cells were dying within. Tom bit his lower lip. Undoubtedly, no matter how much Tom wanted to deny it, Billy's words hurt him. The realization only fueled his anger, further and further, until it burst like the black flames of Hell.

"Freak!" Billy screamed, a taunting smirk on his lips. "Tom, you've lost!"

The dark-haired boy laughed. _He lost? _Who cares about winning or losing! Cruelty and tricks were nothing in front of absolute power, real power, power that only he could possess. Power was the only tool to obtain victory in the real world, and it was the only tool Tom needed!

So what if Harry didn't like him? So what if he wasn't welcome here? Tom didn't need them. _Any of them._ All Tom need, right now, was revenge.

Suddenly in the bedroom, all the furniture began to levitate. Rapidly, they converged at the middle, smashing into each other until only a mess of sharp edges and broken glass remained. The swirling mess moved about like a swarm of murderous wasps, cutting and tearing at all exposed skin. As it flew, Tom could feel energy draining from him. However, any moment of weakness was dangerous. He barely managed to duck a wooden frame flying toward him; the broken edges left a bloody gash on his face. Ignoring the pain, Tom gritted his teeth and focused on his anger.

Slowly but surely, Tom directed his rage towards Billy, who was now cowering in a corner. The objects began attacking the crying boy, a hungry swarm that punctured and scratched every inch of his body. Billy cried out in pain, as the shards grinded against him, bled him from the numerous tiny wounds on his body. The foolish boy finally had his wish— Tom had revealed his power to the world, so terrifyingly dangerous yet... so glorious.

A satisfied grin twisted Tom's lips. Compared to a quick cut to the throat, he preferred the slower method... it was more sportive, like a cat playing with his prey. He watched as desperation descended on his enemy. The slow, numbing pain from a million, tiny wounds tore apart the boy's nerves; and like ants crawling inside of him, it was slowly driving him towards the brink of madness.

"Freak! FREAK!" Billy could only scream that one word, over and over again, so loud that he almost brought the roof down.

He was terrified. _This wasn't a part of his plan!_ He never thought that a small child could have this kind of power, a power strong enough to kill him! _Easily_!

Through the sounds of shattering glass, they heard Harry's approaching footsteps. The next second, the door threw open—

A gush of wind scattered Tom's neatly parted hair. With clear dark eyes, cruel red smile, and standing amongst the carnage; the child almost looked like the Devil from fairytales.

_So now Harry knows! His true nature, _Tom thought darkly,_ time for Harry, and for himself, to confront the truth._

"STOP! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

Harry ducked on instinct as a piece of lamp flew overhead. He surveyed the room in shock.

Tom glared at him through the tornado of floating objects, eyes searching the man's face. He already knew what he would find: fear on the man's face as he points at Tom accusingly and screams 'freak', just like anyone else. Tom sneered. The movement of his lips opened the wound on his face. Blood dripped down his neck, but Tom didn't care. The pain only made his mind clearer, calmer.

He turned towards Billy, who continued to cower in a corner, arms and legs bleeding profusely. The sight of the redness on his enemy's skin made Tom smile. The boy twitched under Tom's cold stares. He desperately tried to flatten himself against the wall, trying to escape the sharp objects in vain.

"TOM!" Harry yelled again, his normally kind voice turned sharp.

_Oh well, at least he didn't say 'Freak'. Not yet anyways_— Tom's smile didn't waver and his muscles tensed, as he concentrated his power around the objects swirling madly in the room.

"Tom, stop! Calm your mind!"

To his surprise, the dark-haired young man didn't rush toward Billy. Instead, he walked towards Tom in slow, confident strides. For a moment, Tom panicked; he threw all the shreds toward Harry, sending them rapidly like bullets.

_Those eyes!_ The thought of those green eyes panicked him. Tom's chest pounded painfully. He couldn't bear to look up and find rejection in those eyes, so he would not look— instead, he will use his power to tear them from their sockets.

Tom tried to breath. The thoughts of those eyes were suffocating, crushing his chest with numbing pain. Tom's eyes turned dark and brutal as he accepted what was to come.

The young man continued towards him, every step firm and calm. Tom's heart raced faster, as if the steps landed, not on the ground but on his heart. Oddly, none of the flying objects managed to hit Harry. They bounced off the young man, like he was protected by an invisible shield. Tom stared stupidly; somehow he detected an impossible power coming from Harry. The realization shook him to the core— _no, it can't be..._

At the next second, something suppressed his power. All around them, the floating objects fell to the floor cracking, almost like hail.

"Don't be afraid, Tom," the man said softly. He gave Tom a weak smile, trying to comfort the stubborn boy, even when Tom was the one person who had nothing to be afraid of.

Tom froze as Harry knelt beside him. His mind became completely entranced by the man's green eyes.

Tom saw many emotions swirling in those emerald orbs— surprise, understanding, concerns and resignation; but strangely enough, the one thing he didn't see was... _fear_.

* * *

**Thanks for reviewing! *Hands out doughnuts and nutella***

Okay, guys, I didn't decide to end on a cliff hanger... the original chapter ended here. XP

_from the beta: Hmm, who's going back to the Orphanage NOW?! Muahahaha_


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

NOTE: This is a translation of a Chinese HP Fanfiction by **墨玉绿**

BETA: the great and wonderful **Paperthins**.

**_parseltongue_**

* * *

**December 23, 1932**

Wizards were born with the gift of magic, but it lies dormant, asleep in their bloodstreams, until the right moment when a child needs his power the most. In that moment, his magic would come to him, in full, unpredictable force, awoke once it truly belonged to him. Wizards called this — accidental magic. Of course, sometimes accidental magic could be dangerous; sometimes it could even lead to magical explosions.

But Tom didn't know any of this. To him, it was only revenge.

After his power dissipated, it left behind quite the messy carnage in the room. Furniture and broken shreds scattered everywhere. Nothing was left in tact. Without the whirling sounds of flying objects, the room seemed eerily quiet, silent like the dead except for Billy's muffed sobs. Harry stood in the middle of the room, his face pale, unsure of how to react to the mess. His chest tightened as he surveyed the damage, at all the destruction Tom had caused.

Harry stopped Tom with his magic. But the damage had already been done.

Before he could think of what to say, Tom took a step toward him.

Through the past twenty years of his life, Harry had never felt so conflicted toward another person, but Tom... Tom was always special. One second, he felt disheartened by Tom's natural, cruel tendencies; but the next, he felt a great tenderness toward the small boy standing proudly in front of him, all alone, eyes distrusting to the world.

Tom stood facing him. Proud eyes met his glaze. Blood dripped from a terrible gash on the boy's face. The wound ran along his eyelids to the tip of his nose, barely sparing his eyeballs. But it didn't seem to bother Tom. His face remained a mask, unnaturally calm for a child his age, ebony eyes hidden by deep, dark emotions.

Tom might looked calm, but Harry could discern, beneath the hard-kept pretence, that the child was upset. Even if Tom would become the Dark Lord one day, but, right now, standing in front of Harry, he was still a scared child in need of guidance.

Before Harry could console the boy, he heard an angry screech coming behind them.

"HARRY! STAY AWAY FROM HIM! HE'S... HE'S A FREAK!"

Billy seemed to have snapped out of shock. Perhaps after barely escaping death, Billy finally realized he was provoking a power which he couldn't begin to understand. That kind of power was _unnatural_! No human being should be able to commend such a force — such unnatural power— so terrible, formidable, and evil. He screamed at Harry, his voice cracking with hysteria.

Billy pointed accusingly at Tom, finger trembling uncontrollably, whether due to pain or fear, he did not know. For once, the boy's pitiful state was genuine and not a pretense put on for Harry' sake.

Momentarily, the Muggle boy's reaction surprised Harry, but then...he supposed it shouldn't have. Children can be ignorant, insensitive, especially in face of things they can't understand. Suddenly, Harry realized his mistake. He realized his mistake from the expression on Tom' face, as the young child's lips trembled at the mention of that word — _'freak'. _In that moment, Harry's heart hurt for Tom; it hurt for the damage his careless mistake had caused.

If Billy wasn't so paralyzed by fear, the cunning boy would be sure to notice the regret flashing across the Harry's face. But he wasn't paying attention, so Billy made his first mistake — his one honest reaction would prove fatal to his plan.

"FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! — DIE! FREAK! DIE!"

The common insult hurled toward them, over and over again, like stones thrown at criminals, weighted down by centuries of fears and witch hunts. The louder the yelling got, the blanker Tom's expression became. His ebony eyes darkened with a dead resignation. Faltering, Harry wanted to cover his ears, to spare the child from the hatred and abuse.

See, Harry wanted to let the boy know that he understands him. He understood... how it felt like to called a freak, to be rejected, to be bullied, to be feared... all because they were _different_. Harry wanted to tell him, wrapping the four-years-old in his arms, that he was not a _freak_.

_But... how to begin?_

"BILLY! SHUT UP!"

Harry's stern voice stunned Billy. The boy looked up and saw Harry's pale face glaring at him. Billy blinked confusedly; the young man had never used such cold and stern expression with him.

Harry watched as fear and hatred twisted Billy's face, as the normally well-behaved boy turned into Dudley and his friends. Then, he knew where it went wrong. This was a mistaken from the beginning.

Billy was still a muggle. No matter how much Harry wished for mutual friendship, muggles and wizards were still from different worlds. How can two children, who'll never be truly equal, grow up together as brothers?

Harry pursed his lips. He approached Billy, his tone softened as he inspected the boy's injuries.

"Billy, come with me. We need to get you treated—"

* * *

Now, all alone in the ravaged bedroom, Tom could barely remain standing. The accidental magic had drained all his energy. His knees felt like rubber; his hands trembled. His new power was devastating, unforgivable, and it had reduced the newly furnished room to rubble. Through the broken windows, the dusking sun lit the room aflame with an intense orange glow —unbothered by the battle that had raged — which made his victory feel rather empty.

But... he had won. He scared Billy to (almost) death; he caused Harry to turn pale with dread. He had his revenge. But then... _why does it feel so empty?_ Sorrow drenched him like freezing rain and disappointment nailed his feet to the floor.

Outside, a carriage approached the house. Tom could hear the driver calling out, " did someone called for a cab for 19 London Street?"

The boy sneered coldly. Even though no one was watching, he tried hard to keep the disappointment and panic from showing on his face. Of course, he knew what was coming — it was time for him to return to the orphanage.

After all, he had planned this, didn't he? He unleashed his power willingly; he conquered and terrified them. So now, they would be sure to want to get rid of him, eager to chase away the dangerous beast that he was... So he was to be send back to the Orphanage, where he didn't have to pretend to care, where he could fight and explore and destroy to his heart's content...

Unexpectedly, the boy felt something wet dripping down his face. He was mad at the tears. He wanted to remain strong even if no one's watching, but the tears kept falling. Trembling, he couldn't even muster the strength to raise his hands and wipe them away.

As the child's body quivered, the little snake detected his distraught. But she couldn't do anything, except wrapping herself tighter around his wrist.

Suddenly, the door was pushed open. Harry had returned, alone, carrying a first-aid kit in his hands. Tom took a deep breath. Quickly, he wiped his eyes dry and gritted his teeth. The rims around his eyes remained red, as he glared at Harry. His surprised face looked like a distrusting wolf cub snarling at intruders.

"I've — I've brought you medicine." Harry smiled at the child, with what he hoped was a reassuring expression, and waved the first-aid kit.

A dreadful, deep gash ran across the boy's face, red with dried blood and pink flesh. But Tom didn't pay it much attention. Instead, he stood straight, ebony eyes indiscernible as deep seas.

The child asked, "Why aren't you afraid of me?"

His tone was light and nonchalant, but only the boy knew the effort it took to say those simple words.

Harry tried to smile again, but his heart twisted as Tom's clear eyes glared at him, flickering between distrust and hope. Suddenly, he wanted to hug the child.

Harry laid the medical kit on an upturned dresser. He approached Tom, ignoring the angry glares, and knelt besides the boy. He inched forward, carefully, until their faces were close to one another, and their eyes met.

"Why would I be afraid of you?" Harry sighed deeply, his emerald eyes warm and gentle, as always.

The boy's face twisted into a sardonic smile. The wound began bleeding again.

"Because I am a freak." The boy replied causally, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world.

Yes, Tom always knew that he is a freak, different from all the other children. _Better than them all...but _he never had any reason to doubt his freakish nature. Suddenly, Tom's chest tightened. He couldn't breathe as those green eyes looked back at him, just as kind and as beautiful as he remembered.

"No," Harry said firmly.

_No?_ — Tom looked up at Harry. The young man looked lost, as if he was struggling to keep his true feelings hidden, hidden from Tom. The child blinked. Anger, disappointment, and sadness overwhelmed his mind. The emotions stunned his eyes, threatening to turn into tears again.

"I know that you are planning to send me away," Tom interrupted rudely.

His voice was high-pitched and angry, sharp as a knife, as he stated the truth. The anger spilled from his dark eyes, and finally the child shed his mask. Standing proudly, with his teeth clenching and fists trembling, Tom yelled at Harry in a fit of childish rage. For once, he acted his age.

"Don't pretend to care about me. Don't lie to me... Just tell me to go. And I will—I KNOW THAT YOU HATE ME!"

Harry felt like someone punched him in the guts. It was the first time Harry saw Tom, who was normally so quiet and so mature, throwing a temper tantrum like all the other children. Harry's eyes widened in shock. He was at a lost for words.

"I know that you hate me... but then... why did you bother to adopt me?"

As tears wet the boy's face, he struggled to maintain his composure. Tom stood tall and proud, face fierce, not willing to let anyone get close to him.

Harry didn't expect to see Tom crying. He paused, eyes fixed on the child before him.

Compare to other children, Tom even cried in a prideful way — he kept still, tears dropping from red-rimed eyes, but his face looked angry, vicious, and certainly not as pitifully as most wailing children. Tom rubbed his eyes with an unnecessary force, and ripped open the wound. Blood and tears clung to his cheeks. Still, Tom continued to forcefully stifle his sobbing, making a choking noise, which sounded strangely like howling of wolf cubs.

Tom wiped his eyes angrily. _Crying is weak! Crying is useless! He doesn't need childish tears to gain sympathy. He doesn't need_—

Suddenly, from somewhere close to his ears, Tom heard a deep sigh, then he was pulled into a warm embrace.

He was enveloped in soft fabrics and a familiar scent — a scent that was warm and nostalgic, like flames in a cold winter night. Comforting arms wrapped around his back, and pressed reassuringly into tense muscles. Tom felt a warm breath tickling his neck, hot moist air on his skin, almost seeping new life into him. For a moment, the sudden, firm warmness made Tom felt _saved_, like a drowning man being pulled from icy waters.

A hand stroked his back awkwardly. Its owner clearly didn't have much experience dealing with crying children.

"Don't cry. Everything will be fine—"

Harry, who hugged Tom tightly, was doing his best to calm the child. He could see Tom was on the verge of breaking point, but he didn't know what to do... Instead, he tightened his embrace and, rather stupidly, could only repeat the words:

"_Don't cry_."

People with kids would know better than this. They knew that you can't indulge a crying child, because — the more you try to comfort him, the harder he sobs.

But the sight of those tears panicked Harry. So he closed his arms around the child, trying to protect him from the world.

Tom didn't move. He let the warm embrace surround him, soothing and alluring, and somehow it made the tears flow even faster. Through his new sweater, Tom felt the man's heartbeat aligning with his own, and, as Harry's arms tightened around him, Tom felt safe for the first time in his young life. He grabbed Harry's shirt and buried himself into soft cotton, breathing in the other's scent. Then the child wept, like never before.

That vicious rage, which seemed to have followed Tom all his life, vanished completely.

_So this is— Harry Potter,_ Tom thought, as he laid his forehead on the young man's shoulder. He felt so warm, as Harry continued to repeat his silly, comforting words, silly yet melodic to Tom's ears.

"You are not a freak," Harry finally said.

Tom pulled at Harry's shirts. Blood and tears stained the young man's expensive clothing, but Harry didn't mind. He ruffled the boy's hair until Tom finally lifted his head to look at him. Tom's large, ebony eyes were bloodshot, and his cheeks flushed. With tears still clinging on his eyelashes, Tom stared at Harry, enthralled, with an odd expression on his face, odd with an intense affection that borderlined on obsession.

Harry thought he looked very cute_. When the boy grows up, he's going to be a lady killer, that one—_ Harry thought fondly.

"Watch this,' Harry smiled at Tom. He waved his hand. _"Reparo!"_

Suddenly, all crossed the room, everything_—_scattered toys, broken furniture, shattered frames...etc_—_mended magically. They rose into the air and arranged, neatly, back into their original positions. Even the broken glass window stitched itself back together, not a crack to be seen on its smooth, gleaming surface.

In less than a minute, the bedroom looked like new, as if nothing happened at all.

The scene shocked Tom. Everything that he had hoped for, a fleeting impossible dream that he denied for so long, was suddenly coming true. Fervent happiness overcame him like a tsunami, coming forth so fast that Tom could only stare.

Harry held Tom's dazed gaze, green eyes earnest and understanding, and said. " Tom, you and I, _we_ are not freaks"

Harry felt a deep sadness as he recognized the unbridled ecstasy in Tom's face. _Perhaps, all Tom needs was to hear the truth— that he belongs. And perhaps, Harry should've told him so from the beginning._

However, once again, Harry misread the child's emotions. Yes, Tom was euphoric, but he was elated for a different reason_—_he was elated to find a special connection between them. If both Tom and Harry were both _special_, that meant that they were also equal. That meant Harry was no ordinary, weak human. That meant Harry was destined for greatness. Most importantly, that meant Harry was fated to stand by _his_ side!

That was why Tom felt such happiness swelling in his chest—because now Harry belongs with him, to him, and to him alone.

"Is it just the two of us?" The child asked.

"No. There are a lot more, just like us, who are wizards."

Tom pursed his lips. He lowered his eyes to hide his disappointment.

_Well, that's too bad_. Although the tears barely dried, the child managed to crack a mysterious smile. At least, now he knew the important thing— that the person who will be spending Christmas at the Orphanage... it won't be him.

* * *

Okay, I'll be very busy for the coming month. So from now on, update will slow to one chapter per week. I'll try to update on Wednesdays.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

NOTE: This is a translation of a Chinese HP Fanfiction by **墨玉绿**

**_parseltongue_**

* * *

**December 24, 1932**

Billy left the vey next day, carrying a bandaged rabbit and numerous new scars. Just like that, the boy disappeared from Tom's life forever. And so, it was clear that...which one of them is the victor. Tom stood by Harry's side, watching as Billy wailed loudly and Harry stuffed his backpack full of new clothes and treats. Kneeling down, Harry bottomed up Billy's coat, apologizing profusely.

Billy wailed with all his might. His tears soaked the rabbit's fur, as he mumbled to himself, "But... But Tom is the freak"

"I'm... I'm very sorry, Billy." Harry patted the boy's head gently, comforting him for the last time.

Tom stood close-by, watching them in silence. The look of regretful sadness on Harry's face sure damped his triumphant.

_Or perhaps, in the end, no one had won,_ Tom thought darkly. In the battle of hearts and minds, Tom wasn't as experienced as Billy. If that worthless boy even manages to occupy a small corner of Harry's heart, then Tom knew that he, too, had lost the battle.

* * *

Tom sat on his bed, tickling the little snake absent-mindedly; his eyes shadowed, as dark as midnight.

He should be happy. After all, Billy was gone. But... that expression on Harry's face as he watched Billy's carriage rode away... that expression lingered in Tom's mind and made him burn with anger. Something stirred within him; from an ugly corner of his soul, a terrible darkness sprouted like poison ivies and bosomed into blood-red anger.

It took Tom a moment to realize that feeling was jealousy. A burning sensation rooted in a deep, unreasonable possessive nature, which he inherited from Salazar Slytherin himself.

Know this, Tom wasn't some stupid kid. In fact, if you were to test him, you would label him a genius. Therefore, it wasn't hard for him to deduce the truth — that Harry favoured Billy, after all. Of course, that was true, because why else didn't Harry even question Billy's accusations? Tom knew that he only got to stay because he was a wizard, same as Harry, and if he wasn't, he would have been the one send back to the Orphanage.

The thoughts only made the child's eyes turn darker.

Tom watched the fire burn in the furnace. His room seemed suspiciously spacious with only one bed. Tom glared at the newly empted space and contemplated his future.

At least, he learned a vulnerable lesson from the experience. Everything Billy had done — the crying, the cute smiles, the obedient quiet acts, the pretence of being weak and vulnerable, even the well-calculated childish fits — everything was done with a purpose. Tom had to hand it to Billy. At least, that moron was a good actor, a master at manipulating emotions. Billy acted just as expected from "a poor, abused orphan", which was enough to gain Harry's sympathy and love.

Tom re-examined Billy's treacherous and cunning plan, and how it almost worked. He was smart enough to recognize that... although power is the most important tool in life, it must be supplemented with strategies and plots and manipulations. Tom's fingers ran along the snake's cold body; he grinned. Now he understood what he needs to become. If stupid Billy Stubbs can do it, then he can do it a thousand times better. Then, after he masters the art of deception, with a perfect combination of power and wit, the entire world would tremble by Tom's feet.

There was nothing inherently wrong with Tom's cool, calculating intelligent...but once he started to learn, started to master playing hearts like instruments... well, there would be no stopping him. Right now, if Harry could read the child's mind, would its dark ambitions scare him? Would its angry thoughts chase him away?... _Probably_..._But, sadly for Harry, he cannot read minds._

Although he had yet to turn five, the child has learnt the value of manipulating and controlling people's heart. It won't be long before he grows into a masterful politician, refined and courteous on the surface, but also cunning and ruthless as he conquers the world from the shadows, using whatever means necessary.

Once again, as history sped down its predetermined track, Tom Riddle grew from a child into something more. Fate hid beneath the veil of the night, satisfied as her chess pieces moved along, all according to the plan.

_**"Tom... Why aren't you happy?"**_ The little snake asked, twisting its tail.

_**"Wrong. I'm actually very happy,"**_ Tom answered. The rough Parseltongue sounded strangely alluring as he hissed excitedly. Suddenly, he leaped off the bed and set the little snake down on the duvet. His ebony eyes shone with an odd, almost cheery glow. _**"You stay here for the night. Do not follow me."**_

Tom brought his pillow along as he walked down the dark corridor. An excited anticipation bloomed in his chest. Finally, he thought of a way to get close to Harry, although it required him to act like a naive, scared child. As the possibilities tantalized his mind, Tom didn't even realize how easily he had forgiven Harry; even if, just moments ago, he had warned himself against trusting anyone.

"Harry?" Tom called nervously, as he knocked on Harry's bedroom door.

He knew the door wasn't locked, but he wanted to be polite. He heard some rustling noises, and he could almost imagine how Harry just rolls out of bed, half-asleep, and shuffles to the door.

The door opened.

Harry wasn't expecting Tom at this hour. The young man squinted, his hair and robe in a tussled mess, which made him look dazed and very young, unlike his usual considerate self. He stared at the small boy, whose head barely reached the door knob, standing in front of him and he didn't know what to say.

The dark-lord-to-be was dressed in paw-print pyjamas that Harry bought for him. The child clutched tight his pillow, a fluffy thing that was almost as big as himself. He titled his head and looked at Harry expectantly. The child's face wasn't pleading exactly, but, in the moment, Harry thought Tom's large eyes resembled a puppy very much, unknowingly wagging its tail for a treat.

"Tom?" Harry hesitated, raising one eye-brow.

Tom paused. _Now what?_...

After all, he couldn't pretend to be Billy, who would start to wail like a baby in the situation... Suddenly, Tom remembered yesterday, how pathetic he must've looked when he cried in Harry's arms, then he bit his lips. As soon as he met those bright, emerald eyes, all the lies, that he had prepared, vanished from his head.

The child mumbled nervously. "It is... It is just me left in the room."

It took Harry a second to understand what the boy's asking. Tom's eyes remained downcast and his endearing embarrassment made Harry simile.

"OK, then... Would you like to stay with me for the night?" Harry grinned.

"Ye...yes," Tom answered immediately.

Harry let the child into the room. Tom hugged his pillow tight, its bottom dragging on the floor. Although the child tried to keep his face neutral, his eager, glowing eyes betrayed an uncontainable excitement.

The dim lamp cast a soft, yellow glow in the room, which made its interior feel warm and welcoming. Duvet and sheets were tossed casually on a large bed, as if someone has just startled awake. A pen and notebook were also left on top, as Harry was just working on a new strategy for Dumbledore's army before Tom knocked on his door.

Tom made his way to the large bed. Then, the normally confident boy halted, looking lost as he stood by Harry's bedside. As he waited for Harry's permission, he fidgeted nervously, black eyes excited although his face remained stiff.

Harry walked over. He petted the boy's head reassuringly. Tom looked very much like a scared child at that moment, just a boy who didn't want to be alone at night. Now, things were becoming clear to Harry; it was impossible to see Voldemort reflected in this nervous child.

Gently, he lifted Tom onto the bed. The boy's muscles tensed for a moment, but Harry smiled encouragingly, and pulled open the duvet. Tom slipped under the sheets quickly, his movements as silent as possible, like a snake slithering to its den.

This particular winter was colder than usual. So, Harry prepared by adding several heating charms on his bed. The comforting warmness quickly surrounded Tom and defrosted his cold toes. It felt so good that Tom almost moaned like a satisfied cat. Blood pumped through his veins. His round cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"Heating charms," Harry pointed out to the curious child. He helped Tom set up his pillow. Then, since he couldn't get any work done under the circumstance, Harry put away his notebook and dimmed the lights.

"Go to sleep, Tom. Tomorrow will be Christmas and — " As Harry tucked Tom in, his legs brushed against the child's feet. The boy's skin was freezing, like the skin of a dead person.

Suddenly, it occurred to Harry that Tom walked over on his bare feet. Soft skins barely produced any noise against the cold, hardwood floor as he entered the room.

"Tom, come here. You are as cold as ice, " Harry inched closer to the boy. He scooped up the boy's feet, then push up his pajamas and pressed the small feet against his bare stomach, so his body heat can sooth Tom's freezing skins.

Hopefully, Tom wasn't too surprised by the presumed intimacy. Harry once saw Aunt Petunia warm Dudley's feet like this, and he remembered it. Because that was what parents do for their children, right?... They took care of them.

Although Petunia was never good to Harry, she loved her son very much. And that small act of maternal devotion always stuck with Harry, because no one ever done it for him.

It was an act that carried all of someone's love and concern. Tom stiffened. His feet tickled against the warmth. The young man's stomach was flat and his skin soft likes silk. In an instant, the comforting heat spread from Tom's feet to his head, as if he was submerged in warm water. He could feel Harry's stomach heave as the young man breathed softly beside him.

Suddenly, although he didn't know why, Tom's eyes welled up.

He buried himself in the duvet. Its soft and fluffy surface rubbed against his face, and a familiar scent filled his nostrils, the scent of soap and sun, and oddly nostalgic like the scent of the old cloak and scarf. Tom felt like he was back in his nursery, although this bed was a million times better than all the damp, moldy, broken things at the Orphanage.

Gradually, his feet felt better. Tom hesitated, then pulled his feet from under Harry's pyjamas. Harry turned to look at him. The child's face was downcast, and his head pressed against Harry's chest. Harry rubbed Tom's head, deliberating messing up his hair, then wrapped one arm around his thin shoulders.

Earnestly, he made a promise to Tom,

"Tom, I want you to be honest with me, like today... You can ask me for whatever you want, because... you don't have to endure anymore. I hope you can be straight-forward with me, because I'm not a smart man. I'll need your help to become a good parent."

For a long while, Tom stared at the buttons on Harry's pajamas, and then he nodded slowly.

Harry grinned. He retracted his arms and closed his eyes. As he was about to fall asleep, suddenly, Tom asked quietly.

"Are you going to send me back? Like Billy?"

"Never. I'll send you to school, though, if you don't mind." Harry ran his fingers through the child's smooth hair, as he reassured the boy.

Tom poked his head from under the duvet. Even in the darkness, his eyes glinted bright, as black and shiny as the starry night. Face serious, he stared into Harry's calm green eyes, then asked carefully,

"You will not abandon me?"

"_Never_. I'll never abandon you," Harry repeated. Suddenly the gravity of the child's question struck him. He paused, green eyes contemplating, expression solemn; then an unexpected sadness washed over him. Harry smiled, but the words tasted bitter in his mouth.

"I'll stay with you, Tom, for as long as you need me."

_I will... but, very soon, you'll be one who wants to get rid of me. To kill me yourself._

"Go to bed," Harry ordered. He shut his eyes, brows-furrowed, and turned away. Something in their conversation clearly bothered him.

Tom watched the young man's expression closely, as the man feigned asleep. For a moment, the boy just sat there quietly, watching Harry with a fiery intensity, his face ponderous and unreadable. Then the child lied down, and shut his eyes too.

* * *

After Harry fell asleep, Tom opened his eyes again. Under the moonlight, famed by thick eyelashes, his large eyes seemed cold and hard like the purest, darkest obsidian. The child stared at the sleeping face next to him. He watched as Harry's breathing slowed and evened out. Then, he pushed away the pillow, which he dragged all the way from his own room. Quietly, he inched closer to the warm body and rested his head against Harry's shoulder. As the heat of the man's skin seeped into his own, Tom closed his eyes, then sleep claimed him easily.

As the night spread and grew, all along the streets, dim lamps lit up one by one. Today was December 24th. 'Twas the night before Christmas, to all the children of the world, and to their loving families — "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"

* * *

Just a fluff chapter, I don't why it took me so long... Hmm, life felt busy, although I'm not doing much. Sorry! I'm going to make the deadline next week, I promise.

Here is a wonderful fan art done by **Popuyund**. Check it out and applaud her artistry. Replace [] with . No space

nyakata166 [] tumblr [] com / image /85502086159


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

NOTE: This is a translation of a Chinese HP Fanfiction by **墨玉绿**

BETA: the brilliant and wonderful **Osmodion**

**_parseltongue_**

* * *

**December 30, 1932**

It didn't take long for the brilliant child to master the art of manipulation. Once he experienced the benefit of lying, he quickly adopted a disguise—one of an ordinary boy, one without any violent or vicious inclinations, one without dark ambitions seared into his very bones. If Harry ended up liking his new self, then Tom supposed that he could pretend to be an idiot for a while.

Like Harry himself had admitted, he wasn't a very smart man, especially when it came to social cues. For instance, he wasn't alarmed by the sudden change in Tom's personality. He was just happy for the boy's progress, because Tom was finally starting to open up to him... even if, at times, it seemed to be not completely genuine. After all, the child was the only reason that he had chosen to stay behind in the unfamiliar time. Now, without Billy, Harry could focus all his attention on Tom, give the child all he had to offer, and pray that it would be enough to change Tom's future.

Flames danced in the fireplace. The heat filled the whole room with warmth and light. Even as the winter storms raged outdoors, Harry did not feel a shred of coldness sneaking into the room.

"_Orchidaceae fioriress."_

Harry was sitting on the bed, legs crossed, his duvet warmed by heating charms. He waved his wand. In one smooth movement, a single beige orchid bloomed from its tip. Its petals bobbled slightly, wonderfully perfumed and beautifully illuminated.

Tom sat across from Harry, looking at the flower with just the right amount of fascination. Even if he secretly thought this particular spell was rather useless, Tom kept his mouth shut and nodded at Harry with polite interest.

The young man's green eyes shone with a childish delight. He beamed mischievously, then he eagerly shoved the wand into Tom's hands. He waved his hands.

"Tom, now you give it a try."

Tom couldn't describe the feeling. As the wooden stick touched his fingers, something new and electric passed through his skin and crawled deep into his bones. His soul trembled with power. The wand felt warm where Harry's body heat lingered on its hilt. Tom clenched the wand. A sudden, frenzied longing crept into his dark pupils, a pure blackness like the deepest depth of the sea.

Magic was even more wonderful than he imagined!

Judging by its peeling paint, the wand in his hands had seen its fair share of battles. The wooden rod was dense with magic and hardened, through endless war, against all tragedies and vicissitudes of life_._

_Its power— he wants it!_ At once, the thought popped into Tom's brain. But the boy was careful to prevent Harry from seeing the hungry glint in his eyes. After all, there were many things he wanted, more than just a wand.

"Tom, say it with me. _Orchidaceae fioriress."_ Eagerly, Harry demonstrated the waving motion with his hands, and explained the basics of spell-casting to Tom. "Elbow a little higher. Yes— that's perfect."

Smiling, Harry could suddenly understand the joy of teaching. With bursting pride, he watched as, under his guidance, a young child partook in his first step in becoming a wizard.

Tom bit his lips, arms suspended stiffly in midair. _Are all spells casted with such stupid waving movements?..._He couldn't help but complain in his head. But still, he did as he was told. He waved the wand.

"_Orchidaceae fioriress."_

As he spoke, colourful sparks flew from the tip of wand. But then... nothing happened. Nothing at all, and definitely no orchids.

Instantly, the normally proud child's face fell. The unexpected failure of his first attempt at magic made his already irritated temper flare.

"Don't worry, Tom. Try again."

As the young man's encouraging words reached his ears, Tom suddenly felt a heat trembling through the wand. The strange magic passed through his body like the electric shock of a nerve signal, and somehow it calmed his mind. He paused.

Many questions popped into his head. Was that _—_ was that Harry's doing? The strange magic felt like a friendly nudge from the wand itself, although it couldn't be sentient... _Could__ it?_ Perhaps it was able to sense its master's intent_—_

Tom looked at Harry curiously. His heart skipped when Harry met his eyes with a bright, encouraging grin.

The encouraging expression was something Tom never seen before. Kindness and love were extravagances that he had never hoped to find. Even the young nanny, who had taken care of him as a baby, never looked at him like that; she mostly sighed as she told him to stay out of trouble. This was the first time that anyone had looked at him with expectations, with hopeful, supportive and trusting eyes. Harry's green eyes looked so bright, as he smiled at Tom.

Tom's arms seemed to move on their own. Before he realized what was happening, he cast the spell.

"_Orchidaceae fioriress."_

Finally, a delicate, flowering bud emerged from the wand tip. As they looked down at it, it bloomed silently, fully exhibiting its pompous beauty. Normally, Tom would find flowers rather useless, but this little orchid had managed to grab his attention. He stared at its petals, unable to tear his eyes away.

"Wonderful!" Harry praised, loudly.

Tom took a deep breath. He could still feel magic lingering where his fingers held the wand. It felt good, much better than what he was doing before-recklessly forcing magic out of his body. The wand was able to maximize his powers, and the new experience of might and control almost intoxicated him.

As Tom watched the blooming orchid, he rolled the wand between his fingertips. He smiled greedily. _He wants it._

"Tom!" Harry called suddenly, eyes widening with surprise as he stares at Tom, sitting across from him. Then, Harry smiled again. His emerald eyes glistened with cheery emotions, greener than anything Tom had ever seen.

Before Tom had a chance to adjust his smile, a warm hand patted his cheeks.

Harry's hair sat like a mess on top of his head, bangs just long enough to hide the scar on his forehead. Beneath round glasses were eyes filled with mischievous joy. He said, grinning, "Tom, your smile looks very handsome."

This was the first time Harry had seen genuine joy on the child's face.

Harry couldn't explain why the sight of that small smile made him so happy. Maybe... maybe because he couldn't imagine such genuine happiness on Voldemort's face. Surely Tom was... was different.

Plus, it didn't hurt that Tom looked very cute when he smiled; no longer gloomy or mocking, he looked just like all the other children, smiling brightly with confidence and boundless energy. Combined with his natural good-looks and immaculate style, Tom Riddle no longer seemed an orphan who needed Harry's help; instead, the boy projected the image of a poised and practised young aristocrat.

Harry was happy for Tom, for the boy seemed to grow more comfortable and confident each day. His grin grew wider, white teeth flashing.

Tom stared at Harry's face. He couldn't understand why the young man liked his smile so much. His eyes darkened for a moment, but his smile remained wide.

_Harry does spend a lot of effort to try to make me happy,_ Tom realized. Harry was happy when Tom was happy, which seemed very odd in Tom's opinion. Very odd... and stupid.

Yet... the smile on Harry's red lips was mesmerizing. Tom stared, dark eyes unblinking, thin lips curled upwards. The young man's pure, unabashed happiness was contagious; and it was almost enough to tear down Tom's long-held defences.

Because... he looked so happy, so happy because of Tom._And only because of Tom._ The realization made Tom feel powerful, just like a moment ago, when his magic was flowing through the wand...

It was intoxicating.

Tom made sure he committed that smile to memory. He swore to himself—that he will make sure that Harry stayed with him, forever! _Forever_... not even death could take Harry away from him. If Harry dares to die before him, then Tom will make his body into a doll, so they can stay together forever.

Before the boy had even begun to truly discover love, his childish possessiveness had already twisted his mind into something unrecognizable. And thus, perhaps, fate was really always unavoidable.

* * *

Everything in their lives proceeded smoothly for the next few months, and soon Tom was ready to start primary school. But Harry decided to hold him back for a bit, so that Tom can first learn to control his magic. Tom spent all his days with Harry, learning magic and playing whatever games he wanted.

Their lessons took place in Harry's Study. Although there weren't a lot of books in the room, it still felt crammed with piles upon piles of paper stacked on Harry's desk.

Sometimes, Tom would sneak a quick peek at the papers. Although he couldn't understand all the complex charts and diagrams, he remembered the two words that showed up the most —_Dumbledore's army_.

_Who's Dumbledore?_ The boy frowned, before setting the paper down exactly where he found it. He carefully made sure everything was back in their proper place, before exiting the Study, his face shadowed and expressionless.

* * *

Tom returned to his bedroom. A lime-coloured snake coiled lazily on his pillow. Tom let the snake crawl up his arm.

**_"So how did it go?"_** Tom raised one eyebrow at her, a cruel but delightful smile curling on his thin lips. **_"Did you enjoy the treat of ... Billy's rabbit?"_**

The little snake flicked her tongue, looking rather satisfied.

**_"Tom, why didn't you let me eat the silly thing?... I _****_had_****_ already swallowed it, but then Tom made me spit it out... A half-digested rabbit is not as yummy,"_** she whined with loud hisses, then coiled unhappily around his arm.

Tom remained silent, but kept his smiling eyes on the snake's cold, scaly skin. He sat down on his bed, pleased. Then, he started to grin wildly, imagining the look on Billy's face as the idiot saw his present **_—_** one familiar and half-digested rabbit.

**_"And then...and then... Tom!"_** The snake rolled around his lap, eager like a pandering dog. **_"I told my companions to hang the rabbit from the ceiling, so Billy will definitely see it!_****_— First thing as he enters—"_**

**_"Good job,"_** Tom hissed, dark eyes narrowing with pleasure.

"**_—_**Tom, time for dinner!" Before Tom could finish his sentence, Harry poked his head into the room. He stared at Tom with impossibly bright green eyes.

Moving as fast as she could, the snake hid into Tom's sleeves.

"Come downstairs right away**_—_**OH NO— the stove**_—_**"

Harry turned and ran out before Tom had a chance to catch a glimpse of his expression. Tom watched in silence, from the edge of the half-open door, as Harry disappeared from his view. Suddenly, Tom had the weirdest feeling that Harry might be... running away from him?

When it was finally safe, the little snake poked her head from his sleeve.

**_"Are you sure Harry's can't understand us?"_**

Tom's good mood vanished suddenly. His eyes darkened. He pursed his lips and tried to recall his conversation with the snake. He tried to remember if it was possible for Harry to overhear them... and suddenly, the thought of it panicked him.

The snake thought long and hard, then shook her tiny head. **_"Not all wizards can understand snakes."_**

She wrapped herself around Tom's wrist unhappily, and refused to explain more. _Does Tom think that parseltongue grows in trees? Does Tom think that this noble language is so common that anyone off the streets might be able to understand them?_

This was the noble language of the great Slytherin house. The ancestral language of _his_ heirs.

* * *

OMG, I'm so sorry. Forgot yesterday was Wednesday! Wednesday is such a bad day. It's in the middle of the week, so I'm always busy.

Can I change my weekly update schedule to Fridays? Thanks!


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

NOTE: This is a translation of a Chinese HP Fanfiction by **墨玉绿**

BETA: the brilliant and wonderful **Osmodion**

**_parseltongue_**

* * *

**September 31, 1935**

In a flash, three years had passed.

Tom had matured both physically and mentally. Provided with nutritious food and stable environment, he had experienced his first growth spurt. The boy's thin body had grown tall and strong, and his previously delicate features had become more chiselled and refined, with a hint of masculinity visible in his sharp eyebrows and angled jaw-line. He was seven years old, and already a master at hiding his true nature. He behaved like a perfect young gentleman, always courteous and proper.

Evidently, the past few years had been good to him.

Along with Tom, even the little snake had grown a lot. She shed her skin many times, until Tom realized she would soon be too big to hide in his sleeves and forbade her to grow any larger. Even though, Tom, from the very beginning, was sure that Harry couldn't understand Parseltongue**, **his suspicious nature made him cautious about letting his caretaker see the snake.

Harry was the only one who hadn't changed. These past three years had left no mark on the young man, almost as if time, for Harry, was frozen in place. As the years had gone by, his green eyes remained bright, pure, and full of hope. Even his hair looked the same— same length, same messy black curls.

Three years was enough for Tom to familiarize himself with everything about the young man—how the scar on his forehead was shaped like a lightning bolt, how he always wore a silver hour-glass around his neck. Harry had no friends in London; he barely socialized at all. He preferred to sit all day in his Study, alone and in complete silence, as he etched out plans for Dumbledore's Army in his notebooks.

Many times, Tom pondered the enigma that was Harry Potter, the mysterious man who seemed to have fallen from the sky and landed in front him. Tom couldn't find anything about Harry's past. No one knew where Harry was from, or where Harry was going, and that made Tom worry... and that made Tom want to _capture him_.

The boy's eyes darkened as he knocked on the door of the Study.

"Tom?" Harry's gentle face emerged from behind a large table, which was stacked full of charts and calculations. Black hair dishevelled like always, he smiled at Tom, before turning his attention back to his work.

Tom smiled back, eager and confident, but only he knew the insecurities that grew within his heart. Harry had been frantic the past few days. He locked himself within the Study. He barely slept or ate as he worked endlessly, like a man on a mission, as if he was rushing against time to meet some deadlines that Tom didn't know about.

Harry's strange behaviours worried Tom.

"Harry. Next month, our school is organizing a field trip— parents are encouraged to attend."

Tom expertly put on an eager expression, feigning childish giddiness for the trip. He handed Harry the permission slip. As he leaned over the desk, he caught a glimpse of Harry's writing. _Of course, Dumbeldore's Army, again._

Harry desperately wanted Tom to understand muggle life in order to prevent the boy from developing prejudices later. So he sent Tom to a muggle primary school. Right now, the seven-year-old was attending second grade.

"Ah, Tom, do you want to go?" Harry laid down his pen. Exhausted, he rubbed his temple and read the permission slip carefully.

Tom seemed distracted. He tugged at his cufflinks and gazed at the slip through lowered eyelids. A shadow hooded his face, hiding dark eyes that were full of disdain.

"Of course!... I want to go!"

When Tom raised his head to look at Harry, his expression brightened instantly. His ebony eyes glimmered with anticipation, like precious diamonds in the night sky.

_Now that's __a__ perfect performance,_ Tom thought darkly. He knew exactly what was necessary to tug at Harry's heartstrings, to get Harry to agree to accompany Tom on the trip... No matter how busy the man was.

Harry pursed his lips and nodded. Swiftly, he signed his name on the permission slip, then he handed the paper back to Tom.

Suddenly, Harry shifted as if remembering something. He smiled apologetically. "I'm afraid I cannot attend the trip with you, Tom—"

He paused, before continuing casually.

"I'm afraid I must leave home for a while."

Harry announced the news with all the nonchalance of mentioning something as mundane as a shopping trip, but, to Tom's ears, the words landed like a knife straight through his heart.

Tom went rigid. His pupils contracted suddenly, pure blackness collapsing onto itself. He stood there, back against the fire, in a shadow, his expression unreadable. He clutched the paper in his hands, nails cutting into his palms. Still smiling, the boy appeared grateful for the upcoming trip, yet, as he shoved the paper behind his back, he almost tore it apart violently. An angry coldness unintentionally bled into his voice.

"Harry... where are you going?"

Harry leaned back in his chair. On instinct, his hands wandered toward the sliver hourglass. He felt its hard outline, reassuringly, beneath soft fabric of his shirt. He smiled a little, green eyes warm and full of nostalgia.

"Somewhere far, far away—" he replied.

_Yes, somewhere far, far away._ This era was not his own...and it was so lonely here... Harry had to admit that he couldn't wait to return to his own time. Even ravaged by war, he still had friends, teachers, comrades there— it was home. If he returned home, he could find the strength to carry on— find it in the rubbles of the battle fields; find it in the people he swore to protect.

Tom's eyes fixed onto Harry's smiling face. The man's soft expression seemed to mock him.

"I've hired a nanny to take care of you. So be good while I'm away, alright?" Harry pinched the boy's nose affectionately. Bright emerald eyes betrayed his excitement. _He was going home._

_A NANNY?! So it was all planned out!..._

_How dare you be so happy to leave me_? Tom stared forward, eyes blank as bitterness raged in his mind, so strong and vicious that it almost broke through his mask. Tom felt like he was being betrayed. And the feeling made his insides twist with burning anger.

Tom stared. See, Tom's entire world only consisted of Harry and himself. Therefore, Harry's world must become the same. Eventually, Tom would make sure that Harry learns... that all he needs in life is Tom Riddle.

No matter how much Tom pretended to be a nice, normal child, his twisted, obsessed nature only grew stronger in secret. And sooner or later, secrets, like all suppressed things, were bound to explode.

"Are you going to abandon me, Harry?" The boy asked, quietly.

He looked very calm, even as rage burnt up his insides. Tom, who was now a head taller than the desk, peered at Harry with intense focus from behind a pile of papers.

The whispered question gave Harry pause.

He met the child's eyes, but he couldn't read the emotions in those composed, ebony orbs. Harry frowned. He licked his dry lips, feeling nervous and disappointed. _Even after three years together, Tom still doesn't trust him... The boy is still so guarded and untrusting, so smart and overly sensitive to his surroundings._

"I'll be back soon, in five months at the most... I promise," Harry lowered his head so their faces were closer to one another. Green eyes locked onto intense black ones. Harry continued, not loudly by assuredly. "In fact, this is more than just my promise to you. This is an oath."

* * *

In the end, Harry left as he said he would.

Tom did not try to stop him. The only thing the boy did to acknowledge Harry's departure was asking that one question, the one he asked that same night he found out — "Are you going to abandon me?"

The permission slip with Harry's signature was submitted, dutifully, with a small comment added on the bottom — "parents not participating".

Tom twisted a key to open the front door. It was dusk. Vanishing sunlight supplied the house with minimal lighting, making the large house seem very empty and gloomy, like the haunted mansions in novels.

Tom walked in, threw his bag to the floor and walked across the living room. Suddenly, he halted. A familiar smell of freshly cooked food drifted from the kitchen...the child perked up as he breathed in the warm, delicious scent. Then, he heard a noise from upstairs. Tom's hands trembled as he ran up the stairs.

The corridor was dimly lit, almost swallowed up by darkness of the coming night. Tom walked fast, blood pumping through his veins, nervous and eager in anticipation.

Because of the darkness, Tom saw, at once, a distinct slit of light coming from Harry's room.

_Oh, how exciting it is to see that light!_ For the first time in his life, Tom somewhat enjoyed something that brought light.

Tom wanted to act nonchalant, but he couldn't slow his steps. Trembling, he pushed open the door to Harry's room, shouting eagerly, "HARRY!"

Next second, a dazzling light flooded Tom's vision.

"I — I — I'm just trying to clean the room," a strange woman answered. She stood nervously, bending over the bed, hands frozen in mid-air as she tagged on the duvet.

Tom's heart plummeted, his blood turned to ice. The excitement in his eyes died instantly.

The child stood by the door, tall and lean with a likeable handsome face, yet a terrifying coldness seemed to be radiating from his silent form, so silently angry that it froze the woman in front of him.

"To...Tom," the nanny said, trembling. She tried to force a smile onto her lips, because, after all, he was her charge.

Suddenly, the boy smiled at her. His pretty features looked perfectly proper and polite in the lamp's light. The nanny blinked.

_That thing before... was... was that a hallucination?_

"Nice to meet you, madam," the boy greeted politely, smiling. Perfect postures, perfect manners, and no sign of anything obscure. "From now on, please allow me to clean this room myself."

The nanny gave him a bewildered look. "But... but it's my job."

"I said — I will do it," the boy's voice turned icy. Suddenly, the smile was gone.

They looked at each other for a second. The nanny shook her head, trying to shake off her feeling of wrongness. _Perhaps the boy is just ... shy. He's so polite!_

The hapless woman grinned, all friendly and gullible, then shook her head at him. She continued to fold the sheets. "Thank you, Tom. That's sweet of you...But that won't be necessary. It's my job to help you to clean and —"

"_Get. Out_." Tom growled, but his voice sounded as calm as ever. He glared at her hands, which remained on _Harry's_ duvet. His eyes turned aggressive like a territorial leopard, silently warning all against touching what belonged to _him_.

The nanny looked puzzled. Something in the boy's tone made her obey him. She left the room quickly.

_What a strange child,_ she thought. And for some reason, she shivered.

* * *

Eventually, the nanny became familiar with Tom's routines. Ever since that day, the boy always smiled politely at her and insisted on cleaning the master bedroom himself.

Normally, if some other child had said this, she would put it down as some childish whim and wage that they'll abandon the task within a week... but not Tom.

Although the boy was polite and friendly, with a delightful smile, something in his depthless, black eyes simmered dangerously. The nanny patted her poor, pounding heart.

Dark coloured irises were not uncommon... But eyes like that — with pure blackness like starless nights — were something that she had never seen before. A colour so pure, so dark, so endlessly grim.

_What a strange child._

* * *

Tom couldn't tolerate someone else's hands touching Harry's bed, so he decided to clean the room himself.

Tom stood in the middle of the bedroom. Using wandless magic, he moved brooms and mops around the room easily. If Harry could see him now, the man would be so shocked by the child's proficiency with advanced magic. Ever since the incident with accidental magic, Tom took great care to hide his true ability from Harry.

Days had passed in Harry's absence, and Tom's suspicion only grew.

_"__Somewhere far, far away,__"_ _Harry had said._

_Yet...If it was such a long trip, why did Harry leave behind all his clothing? Why did he leave behind his wallet? _

The child stood in front of the open closet, examining every neatly-folded shirt with great care, his face volatile with shifting emotions.

The snake crawled from his sleeves. She was big now, almost as long as his arm, with shiny scales and rings of colourful patterns forming on her skin. Black and yellows spots appeared on dark-green scales, poisonous and ominously bright.

She glared blearily as he took a shirt from the closet. _**"Tom... What are you doing?"**_

Tom pressed his face into one of Harry's shirt, inhaling the familiar scent.

The shirt smelled like evergreen wood and lemony soap, but no trace of Harry was left.

Tom frowned, bit his lips. Irritated, he shoved the shirt back into the closet, and pointedly ignored her question.

Harry had been gone for half a month. _Half a month_. Long enough for his scent to disappear from this empty house.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

NOTE: This is a translation of a Chinese HP Fanfiction by **墨玉绿**

BETA: the brilliant and wonderful **Osmodion**

**_parseltongue_**

* * *

**January 13, 2001**

Harry decided it was best to leave while Tom was still in school, when the boy was distracted.

It was necessary for him to go back to his time. Before he came here, he had made a promise with Hermione to return to the future once every seven days. He needed to check in with her so she could examine the physical long-term effects of time-traveling, for his own safety. Once every seven days. So...seven days in 2001 equalled two years and ten months in the past.

No matter how many times he time-skipped, Harry felt that it was a sensation that he would never get used to.

The endless din of banging metal, the kaleidoscopic, ever-shifting images in his head, the disorienting feeling of weightlessness—experienced all together— time-travel felt _bloody_ awful. Harry felt like his body has been taken apart and hastily reassembled. The price for defying time was physical pain, pain so sharp and visceral that Harry wished he was unconscious.

But he persisted. Finally, the time-skipper stopped spinning.

His ears were still ringing; his eyes blinded by dark spots. His temple throbbed. The nausea bubbled up, and Harry kneeled over, retching on the floor.

"HARRY!"

Dressed in a white lab coat, Hermione ran toward him. She helped him up and examined his face carefully. She stared at his pained expression, frustrated by her helplessness as she did the only thing she could— gently pat his back.

Shakily, Harry gathered his strength. He turned and gave her his best dazzling smile. Even on his unhealthily pale face, his sincerity warmed her heart.

Harry's smile was as bright as ever. "Hermione, long time no see."

"You are getting worse, aren't you?" Hermione asked bluntly, eyebrows furrowing.

Yes, he was definitely getting worse. The nausea turned into full-blown migraine, excruciating pain grinding in his mind.

Outwardly, Harry continued to smile nonchalantly. He leaned against the wall and casted a heating charm on himself. Hermione sighed deeply, but she didn't argue with him. She watched him in silent disapproval, and couldn't help but reach out to button up his jacket. _He must be freezing, wearing so little in the dead of winter._

"Come on, you need rest," Hermione said sternly. She helped him up and steadied him with an arm around his shoulder.

Harry shook his head quickly. His feet refused to budge. "No. We should start working... I need to go back within 24 hours."

Hermione frowned again. She glared at him with razor sharp scrutiny, and, for some reason, her stern expression reminded him of Tom.

"Hermione, you said, return once every seven days, then I can —" Harry's voice trailed off. Hermione's scrutiny made him feel guilty, but his resolute will remained strong. He must return, because he made a promise to a child. Five months... and the boy is waiting for him.

Still, Hermione glared at him, with stern eyes that reminded him of Professor McGonagall. Harry met her gaze with his own steely resolute.

"Okay, fine," she finally sighed and her bossy demeanour fell away. "Harry, you need to be aware of the fact that... everything you do has a consequence. If you choose to live twenty years of your life in the past, then your life — later— will be shortened by twenty years or maybe a lot more. And that's not all— "

Hermione set him down a sofa. Her intelligent eyes were troubled as she examined his conditions, once again feeling helpless against Harry's stubbornness.

She sat down across from him. "All this time you spent in the past is putting constant stress on your body. It's dangerous! Even if Fate couldn't erase your presence there, it could still make you pay a steep price for your defiance."

Harry lay back in the couch. He said nothing, because... she was right.

"Look, Harry. Give up please... We already know that your plan has failed! Because Voldemort is still Voldemort, right here— right now — he was never changed by your kindness! "Hermione squeezed the words out through gritted teeth, her voice almost pitying.

She felt guilty as Harry turned pale... but it had to be said.

Her statement rammed through Harry's heart like a sword.

Oh yes... How he hoped to see a different 2001 waiting for him when he returned. But reality was cruel, and fate unalterable. Once again, the truthfulness of her words scattered the illusion of his hopes.

Tom hadn't changed at all.

The higher the expectations, the harder the fall... Despair always follows hope.

"Harry, is it worth it?" Hermione asked, quietly.

Unexpected tears welled in his eyes. Harry opened his mouth, then closed it. Finally, he admitted shakily,

"I... I don't know."

It was true, Harry didn't know... Is it worth it to throw away twenty years of his life, suffering constant pain and unknown danger, in exchange for a chance to change the Dark Lord who cannot be changed? The future was unknown, the end was unknown. No one had ever changed the past, no one had even tried...Was it worth risking everything?

Harry's head rested on the sofa. He squinted toward the light.

"I don't know if it's worth it... But I feel that I _need_ to do this—" Harry replied, calmly.

Yes... Harry owned it to Tom to at least try... to try to give him a childhood, to try to give to him guidance, to try to change him.

Hermione watched her friend with concerned eyes. Three years in the past had not altered his appearance. He was still young, deathly pale, and so thin that his collarbones were almost visible. But compared to their last meeting, he looked much happier. His smile was almost as bright as it once was, in his youth; and for a moment, it almost made her heart flutter like a school girl's. (Of course, Hermione only thought of Harry as a brother, but even she had to admit that he is a very good-looking young man.)

"Fine," she nodded with resignation. "Harry, don't interfere too much... then maybe Fate won't be so harsh to you. Take care of yourself, okay?"

They smiled at each other, as old friends finally reaching an understanding. Hermione was determined to aide Harry— regardless of what he's planning. She swore that, for as long she lived, she wouldn't let any harm come to him.

With Hermione's agreement, Harry's shoulders slumped in relief. He took a bundle of miniaturized documents out of his pocket, then cancelled his shrinking charm.

"Hermione, I've completed our recruiting plans."

Hermione accepted the thick bundle, looking rather impressed.

Then, Harry reproduced the Slytherin's locket from his inner beast pocket. He held it toward Hermione, who regarded the dangling object with suspicion.

"Open it," Harry urged her.

Hermione looked at him sharply. She hesitated, then flipped it open.

Nothing happened.

Hermione gasped. The horcrux... it was destroyed?

"Yep, the horcrux is gone. I didn't do anything, no Gryffindor's sword, no basilisk's fang, nothing. It was just gone, "Harry explained calmly. "Hmm... It happened when I first saw Tom — I mean, Voldemort— "

Hermione pondered the information carefully. She had some theories about horcruxes, but... She narrowed her eyes as she remembered something.

"My guess... is that no two of the same soul can exist at the same time," she replied slowly, voice uncertain. "Since this horcrux overlapped with a piece of Voldemort's soul, and since there can't be two Voldemorts... when they came together, Fate must've destroyed the extra one. Fate must keep history on its track... and thus, I think it's the most likely culprit."

"Hey, if that's true, do you think Fate will destroy my wand?" Harry asked, suddenly remembering the two brother wands that remained in Ollivander's shop.

Hermione shrugged.

"I hate Fate," Harry mumbled, sinking further into the sofa.

"Yes, but at least it helped us destroy the horcux," Hermione pointed out.

Suddenly, Harry's expression turned grim. "One more thing, Hermione — I can't... I can't understand parseltongue anymore."

Harry pursed his lips, remembering the days he spent outside Tom's room, listening to the boy hissing unknown, obscene words. It was the first time he heard snake-speak but couldn't understand, and the low-thrumming hisses made the hairs on his neck bristle. He didn't know the content of Tom's words, but that sound... it was rather alarming.

Hermione's brows furrowed deeply.

No one knew why Harry was a parselmouth... When Harry was in second year, Dumbledore had hinted, vaguely, at the possibility that a part of Voldemort's powers had transferred to him that night.

But it was a vague hint, with no explanation as to how or what or why.

The news of Harry's vanished ability unnerved Hermione greatly. She hated not knowing. People may fear tangible threats or mistakes, but the unknown, creeping out of unseen darkness, was always the thing that terrifies them the most.

"Hermione, don't be afraid," Harry soothed. Sensing her distress, he wrapped a gentle arm around his friend.

Hermione stared at the trusting smile on the dark-haired young man. The familiar sight reassured her, calmed her and gave her confidence in the future. She felt a warmth spreading in her chest.

Her lips twitched, "Shouldn't you be the one who's afraid?"

Harry grinned. He didn't like making Hermione worried about him, but, in a way, it was a refreshing change. Her concern was touching. _It's nice to know someone cares._

Finally, she cracked a smile. Her eyes softened. _He is their last hope... if he gives up, then their hope of winning the war gives up with him._

_Best of luck, my friend, you'll need it,_ she thought.

* * *

"Harry, see you in seven days." Hermione stood near-by, waving good-bye with a smile on her face.

"Actually, I plan to stay a little bit longer this time," Harry informed her. "Give Ron and Ginny my love."

Next second, Harry was squeezed through the awful feeling of time-travel again.

But this time, Harry felt happy.

_Happy_... because he knew that he had friends here, on this side of the timeline, who care about and support him. And because he knew that he had someone there too. On the other side, there was a little boy waiting for him to return home.

* * *

Two things:

1) I want to point out the new BETA— Osmodion — and to thank her and to show my appreciation for her help. Thank you! And good luck on your exams.

2) Might I urge you guys to go to leave a comment for the original author, **Emerald Ink**. I put up a tutorial on AO3 on how to leave a comment using the Chinese site. Go check out that page (it's in Chapter 17 End-of-Chapter's note) if you need instructions.

To leave a comment on the Chinese site:

- Go to: Replace () with .

www () jjwxc () net/ onebook () php?novelid=1888544&chapterid=2

-Scroll to the bottom, fill in the user name, fill in the text box, and press submit. No sign-up necessary. It may take half an hour for the comment to show up.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

NOTE: This is a translation of a Chinese HP Fanfiction by **墨玉绿**

_**parseltongue**_

* * *

**October 26, 1935.**

Autumn seemed to arrive suddenly that year. The morning of the first October was crisp and golden as an apple.*

What a perfect description for a perfect October day —warm sun kissing happy faces and cool wind caressing messy hairs. It was perfect day for a field trip.

The primary school took the children to a beach. It was a rather desolate stretch of ocean, furious waves beating against jagged rocks on white sand, nothing like the fun, golden beach that they had hoped for. Cold winds swirled around them, warning all that winter is coming fast.

As violent waves invaded the empty beach, teachers and parents looked upon their destination with distain. They set up a picnic area somewhere far from the water, and watched the children play from afar. The children, though, didn't mind the isolation. The rural, empty space was new to them, so they were eager to explore.

Tom stood on the beach, coolly observing the children's games, as they chased after each other, laughing, yelling.

_How boring! How obnoxious they all are!_

Tom watched from afar, with cold, dark eyes that couldn't conceal his inner turmoil.

Harry should've come with him on this field trip... but Harry wasn't around anymore. It had been a month since the man left—one whole month— and Tom had already begun to question whether or not Harry would come back at all.

The man promised him... _five months_.

Tom hated feeling like this. _So helpless._ He hated himself— his weak, useless self who clung to Harry so desperately, who relied on Harry for his very survival. Once again, he understood his own powerlessness. He was powerless to stop Harry from leaving. He was powerless to do anything more than just waiting, day after day, wallowing in his own miserable uncertainty.

Tom never desired power more so than he did in that moment. With all his heart, he wished for enough power to stop Harry from leaving him again, ever_. Never again._

Harry would always belong to him... because Tom would never let the man go.

Even if, some day in the future, when Tom no longer wants Harry, even then... he would rather destroy Harry with his own hands than to ever let him go.

Tom needed more power... because he wanted — needed — to have Harry in his grasp. He needed to control Harry. He needed to turn Harry into a person who relied on him— who relied on _Tom_ and on him alone — someone who clung onto Tom with the same desperate _need_ that burned within Tom's mind.

Tom needed more power. Lots more... Power and influence and knowledge. He needed to grow.

"Tom!" A pretty girl, in a floral-print dress, ran toward him. She screeched to a halt, when she caught sight of the terrifying, twisted smile on his red lips.

No matter where he was, Tom always attracted attention. He inherited all of Riddle Senior's good-looks. The seven-years-old was beautiful and noble, always dressed and carried himself appropriately. He had the rarest, most wonderful eyes — pure black orbs that captivated everyone— and he had well-coiffed, rich, jet-black hair to match. Tom's charisma was special even amongst the crème de la crème of Slytherin society, so never mind in this small, muggle school.

The young boy already knew how to use his good looks to his advantage. A handsome face matched with a refined and courteous personality, combined with a mysterious and tragic past, instantly, Tom became the most popular boy in school. Even the teachers, with their motherly ways, could not resist his charms.

The girl bounced toward him, shouting his name. She wanted to show Tom her pretty new dress. _Plus the most handsome boy in school shouldn't be all alone_... _Yes, she'll help him._

Instantly, Tom's expression shifted. His red lips curled politely, his black eyes softened, and all traces of dark and vitriolic thoughts vanished into a blinding smile.

"Yes? What is it?"

She peered at him, puzzled by the flash of cruel smile that lingered in her memory. Then, she smiled back, trusting and eager, as she tagged on his sleeves. "Come with me, Tom. Let's go play!"

Tom hid his annoyance, as he discreetly removed his sleeves from her grasp. He petted the snake concealed under his coat, to placate his pet, so she would stop squirming after the girl's unwelcomed intrusion.

"No thanks. I'll pass," replied Tom. He gave a disgusted dismissal toward the children skipping stones on the shores, but quickly adjusted his expression into a shy smile.

She saw the hesitance on his face, which just furthered her resolute to help him. She beamed at him, "That's alright, Tom. You are my friend now! ... I'll introduce you to everyone."

Tom nodded obediently, looking ever the sweet, handsome boy. But, in his mind, Tom sneered — _idiot_. He didn't want to play with _children_. The only amusement they could provide him was by acting like fools— fools who believed his model student act, who loved him for it, even as he manipulated them from unseen shadows.

"ALLIE! Why are you talking to _him_!"

The downside to being popular was jealousy from the other stupid, little boys.

"He's just an orphan, lucky enough to be adopted by a rich dad," the leader of a gang of boys rounded toward them. He spoke loudly on purpose, eyes challenging Tom.

Tom didn't react. _It's true; he was just a lucky orphan._

The girl glanced at Tom nervously. She turned and hissed at the approaching boys, "Stop it!"

The tall boy shouted, "Why? It's all true! Isn't it?"

"Yes, it's all true... Harry is a very good adoptive... _father_." Tom narrowed his eyes. The word 'father' rolled off his tongue slowly, as if he was unhappy with the common label.

Eagerly, the boys were edged on by Tom's apparent passivity. All at once, they spilled everything that they had heard from their parents.

"Hey, I heard that your _father_ doesn't want you anymore."

"Yeah, yeah. I heard that he's disappeared for one month! Bet you he's never coming back!"

Tom's smile remained unwavering, but his fingers moved toward where the snake hid beneath soft fabric, its cold body coiling around his arm, poisonous fans extended, readying to strike.

Tom hesitated. He looked at the teachers and parents standing behind them. _Too bad... they can still see them._ Then, Tom's eyes flickered toward a distant cave, its cavernous opening dark and welcoming like a hungry mouth.

Tom released his hold on the snake. He rewarded those yapping boys with an unreadable smile, ebony pupils constricted with the intense focus of a viper stalking its preys.

He answered calmly, "You are wrong, by the way. He didn't disappear for a month, just for twenty-six days."

At lunch time, the teachers gathered up the children around the picnic blanket.

The good-natured nanny had packed Tom a luxurious lunch, full of delicious treats.

Tom waved a cheery-jam scone in front of the children.

He offered his lunch to them, smiling earnestly as they all focused hungrily on the box in his hands. "I can't finish all these food by myself. Who wants to share?"

"Me!" "No, me!" The children shouted, pushing each other out of the way to reach the scones, glistening with thick, sweet cheery-jam.

"But—" Tom suddenly tugged the box away, looking down at the scones with a troubled expression. "Too bad that I... that I don't have enough for everybody—"

Tom's eyes rolled over their eager faces. _How boring, it's no challenge playing these fools,_he thought.

"Say, I want to go explore that cave later. I'll share my lunch with anyone who will come with me."

The children looked at the dark cave that Tom indicated. They couldn't see into its pitch-black depth, but something strange and ominous seemed to be lurking just beyond. They recoiled, frightened.

"Cowards," Tom sneered at the boys.

It was a challenge, a simple provocation technique, simple but very effective, especially on those impetuous idiots.

"I'll come with you! And so will he—" No surprise that the tall boy took the bait right away. The idiot even dragged his friend into it. "And after... you promise to give us _all_ the food?"

"Of course," Tom nodded, grinning like a satisfied cat.

_All_ _the food? Well, sure, and I'll personally make sure you have no teeth left to enjoy it with._

* * *

"Ri... Riddle... Let's go back," said the boy, voice cracking with fear, as he followed Tom further into the cave's dark interior. Everything was pitch-black. All they could see was a vague outline of Tom leading them into the unknown. Salty wet air filled their nostrils.

"But we just got here," replied Tom sweetly.

He walked fast, his eyes growing brighter in the darkness. There was something special up ahead, at the center of this cave. Tom felt a distinct power hidden there. Amongst the jagged limestone, there was a dark and deadly force calling out to Tom, like an irresistible Siren song. A sinister force saturated the cavern's air. Its strangeness resonated with Tom's dark magic, as it reached out to him, almost like an eager servant.

All Tom wanted was to teach those boys a lesson, but now... it seemed that he found something even better. _Well, now he'll have to give them a gift, won't he?... To thank them for leading him here._

Tom grinned darkly, anger twisting his handsome face into jagged edges, sharper and more dangerous than ragged rocks all around them.

_All those who defy him, must be punished._

Tom's mask was perfect, so the boys didn't realize how much their words angered him.

_Harry... doesn't want him anymore._ As soon as the thought popped into his head, Tom's blood boiled. Dark magic and rage whirled within him, ready to explode. His mind burned with anger and there was only one thing that can calm him—revenge. _He'll make them hurt. He'll make sure they shut up. He'll make sure they never speak of Harry in front of him again._

Unintentionally, the two boys had attacked Tom with the one topic that was untouchable. So, as they walked behind Tom, unassuming and unsuspecting in their callousness, they had doomed themselves.

Finally, they reached the end of the tunnel. But there was no light there, only a large body of black water in front of them, its surface calm and sinister like a horizontal mirror.

"Riddle! I'm... I'm going back," stuttered the tall boy, legs trembling.

Tom's spared them a lazy glance. There was no need to pretend anymore. Tom grinned into the darkness, and, suddenly, an unseen force tossed the boys into the air. They fell, head-first, into the cold, dark waters.

"AHHHH!" They screamed, as the salty liquid drenched them, chilling to the bones. "DAMN YOU, RIDDLE!"

Finally, the boys realized Tom was exacting revenge on them. They cursed at him, screaming as they struggled to stay afloat.

Tom licked his lips. _No, this is not enough to exonerate their rudeness... More, more_—

Suddenly, the two boys froze in fear. From the depth of the waters, something cold and soft tangled up their legs. It felt leathery, soft, almost like skin. They turned stiffly, and saw, emerging from the water, many colourless faces staring up at them — faces with eroded, empty eye-sockets turning toward them.

* * *

"How... extraordinary," Tom could barely contain his excitement as he emerged from the cave, alone. His eyes shone beautifully like precious obsidian.

It almost felt like the moment that he discovered Harry was the same as him. The ecstasy he felt finding out how magic connected Harry to him. But now, he experienced a different kind of joy. Magic could be different from what Harry had shown him. Harry was light. He would never show Tom the true extent of cruel destruction that magic can bring. But now Tom had seen it with his own eyes. _Dark magic and_ _its wonderful, unforgiving powers._ And it shook him to the very core.

"HELP!" screamed the boys. They tried to run, but their legs turned to rubber. The living corpses climbed on top of them. The stench of long-dead things filled the air, and disgusting body fluid dripped into their clothing. Fear pumped through their veins, crawling up their throat, until nothing else remained.

Finally, they couldn't take it anymore. They fainted, falling to the ground in a thud, nested among the dead creatures as if they belonged to them.

Tom watched them with cold eyes. He smiled with satisfaction, then retracted his magic.

_They can't die here...It'll lead to trouble_. Tom still wanted to keep the cave a secret, for now.

* * *

The teachers found the three missing boys on the other side of the beach.

Two of the children were wounded and drenched in some foul-smelling liquid from head-to-toe. One of the boys, the tall one, had a terrible gash on his arm, and he was feverish, drifting in and out of consciousness. When they asked them what had happened, none of the children could explain. The two boys mumbled nonsense, in broken sentences, body rocking back and forth in terror.

They said something about dead people crawling out of the sea... Must been a heck of a hallucination, hmm?

* * *

*Quote from J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

Thanks to everyone who went to leave a comment on the Chinese site. Here's an extra chapter. (But don't get used to it :D )


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